


The Firmament Field

by whichstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Angel True Forms, Angels, Canon Divergent, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean/Cas Big Bang, Dimensional Travel, Dragons, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Farmer Castiel, Heaven, M/M, Production assistant Dean, Resurrection, Temporary Character Death, riding on dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 15:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16177514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: Heaven is falling, the power grid failing. Dean and Castiel set off on a daring mission to stabilize Heaven, but the operation goes south. Captured by angels, their memories are wiped and they’re sent back to Earth.Although their allies include denizens of Heaven, mortals on Earth, and even dragons, Dean and Castiel are presumed lost. Before Heaven can be saved, they must find their way back to each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the 2018 Dean/Cas Big Bang. 
> 
> Huge thanks to Subtextiel, who jumped in to pinch hit art at the very last minute and did an absolutely wonderful job! I love these so, so much <3 DRAGONS!!! Send some love to the art post: [The Firmament Field Art Post](https://feathergrave.tumblr.com/post/178707747095/the-firmament-field-deancasbigbang-2018-2-this)
> 
> I couldn't have done this without [Zaphodsgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl) and [Sconesandtextingandmurder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder), who beta read this and also pulled me from the Pits of Despair. Thank you so much, you two! <3
> 
> Huge thanks also to the mods, Jojo and Muse, for all that they do to run this challenge! You've made it such a fun experience.

## Part One: Tears in Heaven

The bunker came alive at night like a wild, nocturnal creature. During the day buttons on the numerous computer banks scattered throughout the structure were steadily lit like ready soldiers. The systems waited, alert and still, to perform their function for the Men of Letters - or their more unruly successors. At night, however, the system cycled through its maintenance pattern. From all the way in Dean’s bedroom, he could hear the main computer in the war room beep irritably before hissing to life again as whatever magic that powered it ebbed and surged. 

Dean groaned at the familiar sound. It was already 2:30 in the morning, then. He really should sleep. Instead, he turned over in bed, pointing and flexing his feet in a partial stretch before twining his leg with Castiel’s thick calf. “Do you ever think about having a normal life?” he asked, sliding his hand along Castiel’s waist and pulling him close. Castiel was warm, the whole, solid length of him. Dean pressed up against him contentedly as the bunker’s air circulation system clanked through its own reset, blasting his room with a sputtered cough of cool air as it restarted. “House? Yard you gotta mow?”

Castiel hummed. “Is a house requisite to a normal life?” He spoke quietly, lips against Dean’s hair, stirring it with his warm breath. 

“It can be. Depends, I guess.”

“On what?”

Dean didn’t answer for a long time. His eyes were closed and his cheek lay pillowed against Castiel’s shoulder. It was astonishingly comfortable and he entertained the idea of drifting off like this, fitted perfectly into Castiel’s embrace with the bunker’s hissing machinery singing him to sleep. “When I was seven I made a list. Stuff to make a ‘normal life.’ I thought it was awesome, breakthrough shit at the time. Guess that’s what happens when you’ve been bouncing around motels for a while.” 

“You were young. I’m sure you reached for normalcy where you could find it.” Castiel pressed a brief kiss to the top of Dean’s head. “What was on your list?”

“A house. A kitchen, ignore the redundancy there. A yard and a dog.”

Castiel chuckled. “A dog. You?”

“I was seven,” Dean said with a sleepy attempt at defensiveness. “I watched a lot of TV.” He sighed, running his fingers along Castiel’s soft skin, memorizing how the lines of him changed when he lay in repose. “I’d like to give you a house,” he said. “Some place small and sturdy. Shutters on the windows and a wide, green lawn.” His words slurred; he felt drunk with exhaustion, spent with pleasure. 

Castiel sighed with something echoing satiation. “I’ve never had a house, or a home aside from Heaven. Just…temporary bases of operation. I don’t need a house,” he said. “Only you, wherever you’ll have me.”

Dean once would have scoffed at the sentiment, or dissembled. Now, he simply tightened his arm around Castiel and let himself drift towards sleep, encircled by his lover and content.

A siren began to blare.

The siren wailed insistently, a series of rolling demanding squawks that rose and fell like a spasmodically directed orchestra. Dean jumped, body contorting away from Castiel with more instinct than intent. It took him three seconds to go from peaceful rest to alert and armed with the silver-handled handgun he kept holstered under the bed frame. “What the fuck is that?” he bit out as Castiel scrambled on the other side of the bed. Fabric shushed and by the time Castiel flicked the lamp switch he wore hastily fastened pants, the button still undone, and held his blade. 

“You’ve never heard it before?” Castiel’s hair stood up like a poorly attempted mohawk, lending him a somewhat rakish air. 

“Fucking bunker has a million different alarms,” Dean groused. Now that Castiel was dressed and stood ready to fight, Dean laid his gun on the bedspread and scrambled into his jeans. He caught up his gun again and with a tilt of his chin, they both left their room. The siren blared from below like an angry goose. 

Sam emerged from his room, hair shoved behind his ears and a shotgun in his arms. His eyes were dark circles. He raised his eyebrows at Dean and Castiel, and Dean shrugged at the unspoken question. Together they progressed down the hall. 

Mary emerged from her room, followed by Bobby from his. Both of them were armed. Dean jerked his head down the hallway to the short flight of stairs that led down to the bunker’s lower level. He led the group as they descended. 

The honking siren was accompanied by a flashing necklace of red sigils outside of the doorway of one of the storage closets and Dean paused at the threshold, gun drawn up and ready. He looked back at his small, sleep-rumpled army and nodded at them. Almost as one, they all nodded back solemnly at him, clutching their various weapons. Dean drew in a steadying breath and then sprang forward into the room. 

Charlie stood in the center of the dimly lit room facing a faded, blue projection of a white-robed woman, hood pulled up over her head. The projection was gesturing animatedly; the crates of papers visible through her translucent hands. When Dean ran into the room, however, gun barrel directed at its center, Charlie squeaked and drew her hands up to her shoulders. “Uh,” Charlie said. “Hi?”

It took a long moment for Dean to finish scanning the room and ascertain that Charlie, and only Charlie, occupied it. By the time his gaze returned to her, she had moved her hands into a questioning pose, the corner of her mouth angling upward uncertainly. “Hey guys,” she said. “Funny story…”

Dean dropped his weapon to his side and brought his other hand up to press against his forehead. The siren still blared, loud and hot in his ears. “Charlie. What the hell?”

“Long story,” Charlie told the room earnestly, as the others shuffled in behind Dean. “Tell you in a second.” She turned back to the silver-blue projection of a woman. “She doesn’t have much time. That’s what triggered the alarm.”

“I… What?”

The hooded hologram turned and Dean took a step back in surprise as she lifted the hood from her head and let it drop to her shoulders, revealing her face. A translucent Charlie faced him. “Angels,” she said curtly. “Angels are coming.”

“Charlie?” 

Promptly the projection turned away from him again and faced the other Charlie. “They’re coming for me and I’m the last one. You gotta get someone up here or this whole place is game over.” She held out her hand imploringly, looking for all the world like a slightly gawkier Princess Leia. 

“You got my word,” Charlie swore, her fist clenched as she raised it emphatically to her heart. “Stay safe,” she said as the projection looked frantically over her shoulder again. “Don’t get dead again!” And then the projection of Charlie winked out with a static crack and the room filled with the electric smell of ozone. The siren ceased with a sudden aborted squawk. Charlie turned to the room, her eyes wide and earnest as she said, “We’ve got a job to do.”

* * *

Dean wrapped himself around his cup of coffee, letting the steam douse his face in invigorating warmth. “So you’ve been up all night chatting it up with the other you,” he said tiredly. “Why the hell did you decide to play telephone?”

“And how?” Sam asked. “You’ve never been in contact with anyone from this Heaven before.” His voice held a note of half jealous sorrow that Dean felt to his bones.

The Charlie they’d brought back from the apocalypse world was like his lost friend in so many ways. They shared a similar history, and possessed a passion for magic and wonder that invigorated their small group. Having any version of Charlie back in his world felt like a balm, a peace offering from the universe. But she was a friend, a comrade-in-arms. Despite all their similarities, she was shaped differently by her world. 

He loved this Charlie, but he missed his Charlie desperately. Dean pushed a massaging finger up the bridge of his nose and around his furrowed brow. So Charlie was talking to…Charlie. It was a lot to take in. 

“I didn’t start it. Or I didn’t mean to, anyway. I was curious,” Charlie said defensively. “Mary had been telling me about a box of knives she’d found in this room with all the tags worn off. I thought I’d just take a peek.” Her eyes got a faraway look. “There’s this knife I read about on my world. It’ll sing songs to you, like your own personal, deadly bard. How cool would that be? It could compose an epic song about hunting while I’m hunting!” She shook her head. “But then this stone,” she gently patted a roughly cut blue crystal that sat in front of her. “This stone started to…whistle. And then I heard my voice calling out for help. Calling out for you two.” She looked between Dean and Sam. “But when I answered her…well…we kind of forgot about getting you two because… Because…”

“Because speaking with yourself is an unsurpassed rarity of an experience,” Castiel supplied drily. 

“Yeah.” Charlie nodded at Castiel. “I mean, I see what you meant now. It’s super weird.”

“It is unsettling.” Castiel shifted in his seat and Dean raised his palm to Castiel’s shoulder in comfort. 

“So why was she calling?” Mary asked. “And why the siren?”

“The sirens were because angels were getting close to her. And she called because she needed something. A mission.” Charlie leaned forward, excitement bringing color into her tired face. Dean warily recognized the eager, almost predatory expression she tended to adopt when faced with a quest. “See, up there, Heaven’s falling apart.” Everyone at the table nodded. This was common knowledge, thanks to Castiel. “But the souls in Heaven have joined together to save it.”

“How?” Next to Dean, Castiel tilted his head, puzzled. “By what mechanism? There are no new angels.” 

Jack, eyes still red from rubbing sleep from them, slumped at the table and sighed heavily.

Castiel shot him a sympathetic look and then said, “And we can’t risk pulling through any from your world that might go homicidal at any second.”

“We don’t need angels,” Charlie said, slapping her palm emphatically onto the stone. “Charlie says humans will do just fine. But we’ve got to move fast.”

They sat, bewildered, as Charlie outlined her conversation with Heaven’s Charlie. The resistance of souls there - Ash, Jo, Ellen, and several more - had stolen the angel tablet.

“All they had to do,” Charlie said, “was stage a distraction - a small scale soul release. While the angels were busy rounding up everyone wandering around the halls of Heaven, they nabbed the tablet. Ash found out where it was from listening in on angel radio.” She spread her fingers wide, looking excited. “They were almost caught too. Set off some kind of alarm but apparently the tablet’s pretty good at hiding itself and anyone holding it so…”

“It does seem to possess a will of its own, yes.” Castiel said. “But for what purpose did they take it?”

Dean’s head filled with visions of Charlie, Jo, and Ash with spreading angel wings and glowing, grace-blue eyes. “There isn’t some way to…” He glanced at Castiel briefly. “Turn souls into angels?”

“No,” Charlie said. “Well, I don’t actually know. What they did find was sort of a blueprint of Heaven. And inside of it, a little section on the utility of angels and the power of souls..”

Dean took a long swig of his cooling coffee. “Sounds like something Metadouche would write about. So what was so big that they needed help from us?”

“I’ll get to it in a moment.” Charlie pinned her gaze on Castiel. “We know that angels are the backbone of the power grid of Heaven, right?”

Castiel nodded. “Angels are batteries, conduits and controls for Heaven’s power. Without enough angels, the sphere destabilizes and the realm of Heaven will fall.” He sounded to the casual ear like he was reciting straightforward facts, but Dean knew this tore him open regularly. His duty, or his love. Dean’s fingers twitched against Castiel’s skin and Castiel leaned into him slightly. 

“That’s half of what was on the tablet, according to Charlie. The other half talked about human souls.” She raised her fingers into quotes. “The collective tapestry of the soul.”

Dean tapped his fingers and frowned at her. “Now where have I heard that before?”

Sam cleared his throat. “Kevin,” he said solemnly. “Kevin used to talk about that. He read about it in the demon tablet, remember?”

“So both the angel and demon tablets talk about this tapestry?” Mary asked. “What’s the link?”

“Souls power Heaven,” Castiel said. “And Hell. They are the current flowing through the celestial sphere.”

“Exactly.” Charlie leaned forward and her audience did so as well. “What if you disabled the grid?” She held up a quelling hand as both Sam and Mary began to question her at the same time. “Charlie told me that up there, the resistance has been working on that. See, that section of the angel tablet said that in the beginning, Heaven was powered simply by human souls and ‘shepherded’ by angels. But then God decided that humans were too unruly to be allowed free reign and all the powers of the grid were rerouted through angels. Souls were locked down and, well, you know the rest. Pretty much.”

Silence settled in the bunker. Dean turned to Castiel, watching him warily. Castiel sat with his elbows resting on the table, fingers laced together and knuckles digging into his chin. He looked distant, as though his thoughts were miles, or a whole dimension away. Shadows underlined his eyes, making him seem startlingly mortal. “There is an old story,” he said finally, in a quiet, contemplative tone. “Of our beginning. Angels who roamed the cosmos, untethered to Heaven. Who explored the galaxy, wings bearing them to the most distant stars.” He shook his head. “I don’t remember it myself but…I don’t remember many things, as I’ve come to learn over the years. I wonder…”

“You think there’s some truth to it?” Dean asked.

Castiel hummed thoughtfully. “If it is, how odd it is that none of us thought to question it.” 

“Angels are at least as old as our world, right?” Sam’s voice was kind, but his eyes were alight with interest most often ignited by new lore. “It makes sense that they would’ve—”

“Had a life before humans came along?” Castiel smiled wryly. “My brothers and sisters often talked about it in those quiet times on guard. What a life free of duty might be like. Heaven is a sacred task for some but for others, it is a burden.” He laid his hands on the table and murmured, “I wonder what would have become of us if we had that freedom?”

Dean rapped his knuckles on the table, as much a reflex as a way to draw attention from Castiel who stared at the table, unseeing. He looked incredibly sorrowful and Dean could only begin to guess the depths of memory and melancholy towards which Castiel plummeted now. “So let me get this straight. The resistance up in Heaven is trying to take down the power grid - angels - so they can…rule themselves?” 

Charlie nodded. “In a nutshell. Yeah.”

“Somebody please explain to me how that’s not gonna just crash and burn.”

“Heaven’s a prison,” Mary said softly, and something dangerous glinted in her eye as she looked at the others at the table. “Max security. Takes a lot of power to keep that up.”

“Exactly,” Charlie said. “But the, uh, other me says that if you dismantle the prison, that solves the power problem. Because, hey, no more bars. No more batteries. Just freed energy running through Heaven.”

“No more angels,” Castiel supplied. He sounded weighted with sorrow. 

“Nobody said that, Cas.” Dean shook his head, searching for words, when Charlie interjected.

“Charlie didn’t say anything about that. Sorry, Cas. But I can tell you when she said they needed help taking down the power grid they asked specifically for, uh—” She looked at Dean warily before turning back to Castiel. “Charlie was asking for you.”

Castiel sighed, shoulders slumping. “For me,” he confirmed. “I suspected as much.” He tilted his chin to look at Dean. “And how would they need my help?”

“The ‘power grid’ in Heaven is connected by nodes bordering the far edges. The tablet said if you take down the nodes' shields, then you can disable the grid. The final switch, so to speak, is in the Garden.” 

“Like, the Garden garden? Chuck’s throne room?” Dean mind raced through the possibilities as Charlie shrugged. 

“I guess? Charlie just said to tell you the control source was in ‘The Garden.’”

Castiel nodded slowly. “There is a place I was informed about in the brief time I ruled Heaven. A control center which was the core of our power. I never knew the mechanism behind it.”

“Apparently only an angel can walk into the Garden without getting shredded into a million particles.”

“We did,” Sam said with a frown. “Dean and I did. And we were fine.”

“You were souls, incorporeal. And permitted by Joshua directly.” Castiel leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming the tabletop restlessly. “And while a soul could, in theory, enter the Garden without damage there is no way a human could withstand the forces concentrated in the central power nexus.”

Charlie sighed. “Okay, now that we’re going through this, it’s a lot. That was…a lot.” She made a face. “Sorry.”

“No shit,” Dean said and he leaned back as well, folding his arms. “No way is Cas popping up to Heaven because of, no offense, completely second hand knowledge. It’s like ordering a nuclear hit based on a game of telephone.”

Charlie nodded, a little miserably, and Dean noticed with a sinking feeling that Mary also had a look of crashed hope. 

“There has been discussion,” Castiel said. “Rumors of the possibility of a Heaven run without angels. Hell, for example,” he said entirely casually, “runs without the control of angels. It runs in an entirely other dimension and the power that sustains it…”

“Subjugated human souls?” Dean supplied with a sudden spike of anger.

“Subjugated, but not caged. Held in line by torture, only.” Castiel turned to Dean, gaze carefully neutral. “It’s a prison, of sorts. But the denizens of Hell are not prisoners, in fact, but simply residents trapped in an endless cycle of pain.”

“In Heaven,” Mary said. “Everyone in their own cell. Cut off. What would that even look like if we - they - were free?”

“Your argument,” Sam mused, “is that because Hell exists without an angelic power grid, Heaven can do the same?”

“That’s what she told me,” Charlie said. “And why would I lie to myself?”

“Oh, come on,” Dean said in an aggrieved tone. “How do you even know you were talking to you - her - and not some…some…trick?”

Charlie squirmed in her seat. “Uh, turns out our youthful years were not so different? I asked her some stuff about Samantha Steinem and, uh…the use of various fruits.” Though the Charlie who had come to them from the alternate world was generally harder to unsettle, she was now turning a bright, beet red.

Dean took pity on her and held up his hand. “Okay, so assuming you were talking to Charlie, and she’s telling us all the facts, what does she want us to do?”

“Me,” Castiel said gravely. “What does she want me to do?”

“They’re getting picked off, one by one. Bobby, Ash, Jo, Ellen, Kevin…” Charlie held up her hand and ticked up fingers. “She named this big long list of resistance fighters, all captured by angels. I guess they got wind of their plan somehow. When you guys came, angels were coming for her as well. She wanted Cas to head up there. Disable the shields on the nodes and flip the switch in the garden. She wanted Cas to set them all free. She was on her way to disable the first node. She’ll do as many as she can until… Until they catch her.”

Dean grunted. “That sounds so easy when you put it like that.” The mission sounded bold, fast, and so full of promise. Dean tried to quash the spark of hope in his heart. He knew that one day he might go to Heaven when he died, and stay there. There was no other option, other than oblivion. Staying in the Veil would drive him insane. He’d shot up far too many ghosts to ever be under any illusion about that. And Hell was someplace he’d gladly avoid for the rest of eternity.

Sometimes he thought about it - about asking Castiel to stay with him in Heaven. But he knew it would be a half life, asking him to remain in what was essentially a prison cell with him. Life wasn’t a fairy tale. Being married on earth meant exactly nothing in Heaven. There was no special spousal privilege. His mother and father were proof of that. For all that they’d been orchestrated as an angelic match, they did not share a heaven. The prospect of a free afterlife, out from the thumb of angelic control, was a heady one. “But you’re asking Cas to head up alone, with the remaining angels on the hunt. You said yourself they’re onto the plan.”

“I’m not asking him to do anything,” Charlie held up her hands defensively. “I’m just passing on a message. But it’s an interesting idea, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Mary breathed. She met Dean’s eye. “When I die again, I do hope to go to Heaven. The whole time you’re there you feel…intoxicated. Seduced by your memories. But there was a always a part of me…” She smiled bitterly. “Maybe because I was a hunter. Used to looking for the hidden picture. But I knew I was trapped. Happy, but trapped. If there’s a chance to change that, I want to learn more.” She reached her hand across the table as though in offering. “I’m not saying we run into this blind. But don’t you think it’s worth looking into?”

Sam cleared his throat. “We’ve done more on less.”

Dean folded his arms. “No. This is a bad idea. Haven’t we been trying not to run off half cocked now that Michael’s gone? For once, things are calm. Can’t we just—?”

“Dean, we’ve ushered at least twenty souls back to Heaven this spring alone.” Castiel laid a comforting hand on his elbow and squeezed, kneading into his bare arm. His fingers were warm and solid. “Heaven is failing regardless of what the angels do. If we can save Heaven, for you. For your family.” For us, his eyes seemed to say as he fell silent. 

Dean stared at Castiel. Wrinkles pressed deeper into the corners of his eyes these days, as much from laughter as pain now that he and Dean had finally surmounted their obstacles and come together. “Cas.”

Castiel curled his fingers into the crook of Dean’s elbow and leaned into it, pressing them together through that connection. “I think I should do it,” he said. “I want to try.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Dude. I look just like Braveheart.” 

“Dean.” Castiel frowned as he nudged Dean’s chin with his finger, so that Dean pointed his nose towards the sky. “If you’re not going to take this seriously…” He glared at the ridges of Dean’s chin and traced the intricate whorl of a sigil down the line of Dean’s throat to where it disappeared in his collar. 

Dean twitched under his touch but his response was sober. “You’re not going without me.” His tone held a note of finality which was both touching and frustrating to hear. 

Castiel ran his finger along Dean’s neckline, checking the swirling blue lines that terminated just behind his ear. “You’d be safer here. I’ll be fine.”

“Cas, you said yourself that nobody’s navigated the ‘dimensional pockets of Heaven’ for…what? At least a hundred million years. You need someone there to watch your back.” Dean gestured towards his face. The blue pre-dawn light turned the painted sigils that covered his skin to deep indigo. “Getting tatted up is gonna get me through that doorway intact. Who knows what else it might help with upstairs?” He reached for Castiel’s hand near his collar and drew it close, pressing a kiss against Castiel’s wrist just above his shirt sleeve. “We’ll be fine. They don’t even know we’re coming.”

Castiel frowned unhappily and leaned in close, nestling their clasped hands in the hollow of Dean’s shoulder and pressing their foreheads together. He inhaled deeply; the familiar scent of Dean was overlaid with bitterness from the permanent ink they’d painstakingly painted onto his skin. The sigils should protect Dean’s mortal body as he passed through the portal to Heaven, but the spell was untested. “What if I got a symbol wrong?”

“Hey. You don’t get symbols wrong.” Dean laughed. “I can feel you rolling your eyes at me. C’mere.” 

Castiel let Dean draw him close. Dean kissed him gently at first, like it was a chaste token delivered on their way to a bar. Castiel closed his eyes and grasped Dean’s collar tight in his hands, pulling him in with something more like desperation. Dean - perfect, frustrating Dean - was following him to Heaven on his quixotic quest to save it. He might die. They might both perish on this mission. He tried to put everything he was feeling - his love and fear - into their kiss. “You be careful,” he said when he finally pulled away.

“Hey, it’s me,” Dean said with a crooked half smile. “I’m always careful.” His face was a mask of calm confidence but Castiel could hear his heart thundering in his chest. 

“Okay,” Castiel said, trying to calm his own nerves with a cool wash of angelic will. “Let’s go.” He turned to the sandbox which had lain vacant for a few years. 

It now looked ordinary. Clearly, children had begun playing in it now that the human diversion charm had worn off. Castiel crouched down to pick up an abandoned plastic shovel and bucket and tossed them out of the sand. He lifted his hand over the sandbox and muttered a quick Enochian phrase. An isolated wind seemed to blow through the playground, stirring and rearranging the sand until the sigils marking Heaven’s doorway were revealed. He glanced at Dean one more time. 

Dean opened his coat and pulled out an angel blade, then gave Castiel a sharp nod. Castiel started to chant.

The portal gradually began to glow like a slowly waking beast. The light warmed to moon-bright before Castiel ordered, “Close your eyes.” 

The portal reached the tipping point and illuminated in a flare brighter than the sun. A column of energy shot up from the sandbox, a quaking white hot bridge to Heaven. “It’s time.” Castiel took Dean’s hand. 

Dean’s eyes were screwed tight against the celestial flare and he held Castiel’s hand firmly. His freckles stood out in stark contrast in the white hot light and the solar force of Heaven’s gate nearly turned Dean’s skin transparent. 

Castiel frowned, momentarily overwhelmed by the stifling sense of worry and elation that came from knowing that this wonderful, irascible man refused to be parted from him. They were joined in this, no matter what. The sigils painted on Dean’s skin glowed a fierce ice blue in the light from the portal. Castiel took a deep breath, tightened his grip on Dean’s fingers, and led him forward.

The doorway pressed into their matter like a belligerent bully, seeking to dismantle or destroy any mortal tissue that wasn’t shielded by grace. Castiel fervently hoped that the sigils painting Dean’s body with decoy grace magic worked. If the sigils failed, the success of their mission would be all the more imperative. Just as Dean refused to leave his side, Castiel refused to leave Dean - even if it meant entrapment in Heaven just so he could remain near his soul.

The doorway folded them into the aether dimension, like a pocket square neatly stored. As quickly as they’d passed into the portal, they emerged into the axis mundi, falling from the doorway with the force of the spell. 

Castiel landed on top of Dean awkwardly. He jerked his chin upwards immediately, eyes wide and watching for enemies from all sides. Dean grunted beneath him and muttered, “Elbow, elbow!” until Castiel glanced down and pushed himself up and away.

“Sorry,” he said breathlessly. “There are no gentle ways into Heaven.”

Dean snorted. “That’s what he said.” He took Castiel’s hand and let him help him to stand. Dean looked around warily, angel blade held at the ready. “So we’re in the…?”

“Five thousand six hundred and forty first great circle. One of many orderly levels of Heaven,” Castiel affirmed with a frown. The hallway was empty, wide and sparse and quiet. 

When Metatron first carved a doorway to Earth in this circle, the hallway had seen constant use. It wasn’t uncommon, in the days of frequent trips to and from Earth, to encounter others. Now, the hallway was dim and abandoned. After all, if the only angel left on Earth was content to fall into human habits and had, in fact, married one, there was little need to monitor an unused doorway. 

The edges of the hallway had melted from their crisp lines of a few years ago. Where once they resonated strongly with the thrum of grace and celestial energy, now the walls felt nebulously soft and strange, like a liquified caterpillar in a chrysalis. 

Overhead, dim lights hummed and flickered as power surged unevenly through Heaven.

“Well, this is…not what I remember from Heaven.” Dean sounded almost wistful and Castiel turned a puzzled look on Dean who explained, “Last time I was here there was a road. And a wide, starry sky. And my car was here,” he added, looking a little embarrassed.

“Heaven takes on many appearances. Your mind supplied what appealed to you the most. You’d died, so your personal heaven fueled the overlay.” 

“Wait, like a cylon? We saw a road but someone else might see…”

Castiel held his finger to his lips, but tilted his head in assent. Then he gestured for Dean to follow him down the hallway. They traveled the dim path, angel blades at the ready. 

After a long, tense period of silence, Castiel resumed their whispered conversation. “Someone else might see a city, or a sea and a boat, or a version of their home that extends endlessly on with countless rooms and corridors.” He ran a hand down the smooth wall. “However, most angels prefer to think in simple lines. So what you see here is a result of our manufacture.”

Dean scoffed. “Linear angels. Well, ain’t that the truth.”

Castiel squinted upwards. Lights suspended in the hallways were at least at one quarter power, possibly less. Half of them were out completely, casting the orderly corridors of Heaven into dim shadow. “Much has changed since you last ventured into Heaven. The last time I was allowed to visit, they had already suffered severe power depletion. But it has grown worse. Come.” He gestured with a jerk of his chin down a side corridor. “The portal that will lead to the first node is this way.”

Castiel began to lead the way down the hallway, senses expanded as far as they could go to listen for any angels they might come across.

The longer they traveled unmolested through the dim corridors of Heaven, Dean watching his back and following behind, the more worried Castiel became. No matter how many times he assured himself of Heaven’s low count of angels, surely by now someone had noticed the activation of the doorway. Surely there would be angels sent to meet them at any moment. Either Heaven was in more dire straits than even he had predicted, or they were walking into a cunningly laid trap.

“Is it just me or does it feel like we’ve been walking for days?” Dean asked after a very long interval of silence. “But I’m not tired. Or hungry.”

“While you are here the power of Heaven sustains you. The sigils see to that.” Castiel glanced back at Dean as he spoke and stopped in his tracks. Dean looked pale, the blue sigils standing out in greater contrast now. He had a pinched look to his face, and his eyes narrowed. “Are you alright?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded slowly and attempted a crooked smile, but it lacked his usual insouciant energy. “Feeling a little weird. Not bad weird. Just…weird.”

“Time passes differently here,” Castiel said, pressing a careful hand against Dean’s cheek. He felt warm, but not unusually so. Castiel brushed his thumb along the deep shadow under Dean’s eye. “We have been walking for days, technically, but it also feels like…a dream, I suppose. You have no need to eat, or sleep. Not here, in the heart of Heaven. In Hell the passage of time is visceral, meant to wound. Here, the intent of Heaven is to soothe, so we are soothed. But it can feel odd.”

“ _We_ feel soothed? Do you feel it too?”

Castiel smiled. “Nearly an infinite lifespan would be intolerable without it, I think. This is why angels adjust so poorly to Earth and its finite, hard minutes.” His hand dropped away from Dean and he swiveled to point at a plain gray doorway. It had three ancient symbols etched on it. “It may help you to know that we’re getting close,” he said. 

“Babylonian,” Dean murmured, tracing one of the symbols. “Further in, further back in time?” Dean guessed.

“Something like that. Come on. We’re almost to the first gateway.”

Near the center of Heaven, the hallways were brighter. Grace knit the realm together strongest near the Garden, the core generator of the angelic power grid.

With the increase in power at the center, the crawling sense of being watched pressed against the back of Castiel’s neck.

“One more turn,” Castiel whispered, when at last the final twist came into view. “Almost there.” 

Suddenly, Castiel froze, raising his hand to still Dean’s movement as well. Castiel cocked his head to one side and listened intently. From somewhere close by he could hear the mechanical click of heels along the stern-set hallways. 

“Quick,” Castiel breathed. He darted to the side and grabbed for the nearest doorway. He opened it, pulled Dean inside, and closed the door again in one swift movement. Pressed against the door, Castiel shook his head at Dean and lifted a finger to his lips. _Angel_ , he mouthed, and Dean nodded and adjusted his grip on his blade.

Castiel listened intently, his ear pressed against the door which had transformed, in the heaven to which they had escaped, into a wall of solid red rock. 

After several long moments he shook his head, ear brushing against the sandstone. “Soundproof,” he told Dean, relaxing a little and pulling back from the wall. “No sound goes in, no sound goes out.” He frowned at the rock. “It means we’ll have to stay here for a while. Wait out whomever might be in the corridors nearby.”

Dean looked up and down the rock wall, brushing a hand along its rough surface, then turned to peer behind them. His jaw dropped open.

They were standing on a cliff, long and rust-red, and steep. Dean shifted involuntarily backward, his shoulders coming up against the wall. Castiel lifted a hand to his elbow to steady him, watching him carefully as Dean licked his lips and looked down.

“Uh,” Dean said with a very poor attempt at a smile. “So are heavens like…dream rules? If we fall…”

“If we fall,” Castiel assured him, “You will not be injured.”

Dean breathed out audibly and swallowed hard. “Good.”

“We will, however, cause a substantial disturbance. Best to be avoided.” Castiel tried and failed to suppress a smile as Dean sucked in an almost inaudible breath when he leaned over the cliff edge to peer down and around them. They stood several stories high, the cliff disappearing into the tree line far below. 

“Here. We can sit while we wait.” Castiel kept his grip on Dean steady and sure as Dean lowered himself down, never losing contact with the rock wall behind him. Castiel settled next to him, and extended his legs so that his feet dangled off the edge. He crossed his ankles and leaned back, shoulder to shoulder with Dean.

“This heaven is an old one,” he said, partially to distract Dean, and partially out of an intense desire to share the wonderful variations of heavens with him. “Established but fading. See this rock?” He picked up a fist-sized rock and crushed it into dust.

Dean laughed. “Show off,” he muttered. 

Castiel picked up a similarly sized rock and handed it to him. “Try it yourself.”

Dean took the rock from him and glanced at him once, a smile creeping into the corners of his mouth. He clenched his fingers and the rock exploded in his hand, showering his fingers and jeans with dust. Dean lifted one eyebrow. “Okay. That was…oddly satisfying.”

“Smell the air,” Castiel instructed him, now grinning at the look of wonder Dean was trying and failing to suppress. 

Obediently, Dean sniffed the air, then inhaled more deeply. “I don’t smell anything,” he said with a frown. “What am I supposed to be smelling?”

“Nothing. That is, in a newer heaven you would smell the earth. The sun warming the rock would smell like heated minerals and dirt. The air would be redolent with the scents of pollen and pine. But there’s nothing here.” He pointed down the cliff side with one hand, gently encouraging Dean to lean forward with the other. Below them, a woman sat on her haunches with a half skinned rabbit lying in front of her. The flayed skin shone ruby red before her, making the surrounding brush clinging to the cliff side seem faded in comparison. She was chewing slowly, her jaw working methodically around the rabbit as she watched clouds drift past like great misshapen moons parading through the evening sky. She looked peaceful in her solitude.

“Shit,” Dean said in a hushed tone. “Can she see us?”

“I very much doubt she will notice our presence, unless we make a great deal of noise.”

“Or plummet over a cliff in front of her nose?” Dean said, punctuating the question with a half-frantic laugh.

“Or plummet in front of her nose. It’s an old memory, you see.” Castiel gestured around them. “Here, isolated memories fade just as they do on Earth, although the time scale is different. With nothing to energize them, the details fade.” He settled back against the rock wall again and Dean followed his lead, fumbling for his hand and pulling it into his lap.

Castiel let the peace of the heaven lull him into a calmer state. There may be an angel prowling through the corridor but in here, they were insulated from the dangers of Heaven as long as they remained undiscovered. He dropped his ear to Dean’s shoulder and rubbed his forehead against the stubbled line of Dean’s jaw. “One day this memory will become a sphere in the sky, a smudge of blue, and something firm to hold her up. Perhaps the rabbit will remain a little longer,” he said consideringly. “Perhaps not.”

“When we flip the switch,” Dean asked in his best faux-casual tone, “will this still happen? This…fade to black?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted. “In those long ago stories humanity was new. There would have been no time for memories to fade and anyway, no angel seems to remember it.” He sighed. “There is so much I do not know.”

Dean tightened his grip on his hand, thumb stroking along the length of his index finger. 

“I suppose now only Michael may know, though sources indicate he still raves madly in the cage. Or Chuck but he’s… Well.”

“A piece of shit,” Dean supplied helpfully.

“Something like that. We cannot know. But the thought of it is compelling. In theory, memory is the art of telling tales. Human society excels at it. How many stories have lived on through generations, some of them largely untouched and others brilliantly changed? Individual heavens thrive on memories, and die as they fade. With a free Heaven, perhaps that leaves humanity open to creating new ones, just as strong as anything lost or morphed over time.” He sighed. “I only wish we knew for certain.”

“That what we’re doing is right?” 

Castiel nodded. 

“Yeah, that’d be a friggin’ nice change of pace for once.” Dean pulled up Castiel’s hand, opening his palm so he could press a kiss to it. “Three weeks of hiking in Heaven’s backcountry for a chance at freedom is a no brainer, Cas. Hell, Kevin told me that those tablets said they were written for the defense of mankind. Maybe we were always meant to have this. Like getting the car keys when we’re old enough.” Dean craned his neck around and Castiel knew he was picturing the invisible hatch behind them. “So when do we know it’s all clear? I hate waiting,” he muttered.

Castiel laughed. “I know,” he said with feeling. He, too, looked back at the closed doorway. “There’s no way to tell what’s beyond,” he said. “I suggest we wait a little longer. Individual heavens are designed to be insular by their very nature. It’s why—” He felt himself warm and leaned away.

“What?” Dean's voice was quiet. Kind.

“I used to ‘escape’ into other people’s heavens.” He wriggled two fingers to emphasize the word. “It was a peaceful retreat. Whole entire worlds so infinitesimally small compared to the universe, but seemingly endless in scope. They’re lovely paradoxes. Whereas Heaven, the layers overseen by angels, was always so straightforward. Farmed in rows and columns and angles sharp enough to draw blood.” It was hard not to slip into his former morose state, thinking about all he had lost and gained, and all he might lose again. Castiel sighed and leaned into Dean. Together, they watched the wide, unnaturally large sun set into a brilliantly fiery sky.

As the moon rose the woman beneath them shifted down the rocky slope, moving along to a different area of the cliff. They could hear her rustling below them, the occasional pebble clacking as it careened over the cliffside. 

“So how much farther to this gateway?” Dean finally asked.

Castiel sat up, then scooted to the side along the cliff shelf, opening up space in the dirt between himself and Dean. He used his finger to draw in the dust.

First, he drew a circle as wide as a massive pumpkin. He bisected it with an oblong oval around the bottom third, then poked a finger along the edge of it, leaving a solid dot. “That’s where we came in,” he said. “Along this lower great circle.” Castiel drew a line in towards the center. “We made our way here, then started to move upwards through the levels.” He drew another oval near the center of the circle, rendering it into an obvious sphere. “We’re here, close to the Garden. The gateways are located here,“ Castiel indicated 6 points surrounding the inner circle. “And will help us to travel quickly to each node. We will pass back and forth between the nodes and the inner sphere of Heaven.” He drew a line from the center of the sphere outward to an edge just outside of his circle. “Then we can disable the grid completely in the Garden once all the node shielding is disabled.” He sighed. “We still have a long way to go.”

Dean reached forward and dug into the center of the circle, where the Garden lay. “I’m in it to the end,” he said.

“Me too,” Castiel affirmed. 

Above them, the moon shone hazily like a memory half lost. Dean shuddered as he looked up at it. “Sorry,” he said. “Just thinking about what you said. Wondering if I’ll lose the memory of Baby’s engine, or Sam and me eating ice cream behind a truck stop, and lookin’ out over the Rockies. Or you,” he admitted. “Any part of you. Let’s finish this.”

“Okay,” Castiel said and stood along with Dean, both of them brushing the dirt needlessly. It fell away easily. _Earthly habits are quick to develop and hard to forget,_ Castiel thought, as he dusted off his hands. 

Carefully, blade held ready in his hand, Castiel opened the door and peered outside.

The corridor appeared empty, bright and white and sterile. “Let’s go,” he whispered, and they slipped out of the woman’s heaven with a rasp of fabric and the gentle _clack_ of a door closing.

Their progress down the final corridor to the first gateway was once again unsettlingly without incident. Though Castiel and Dean had advanced warily, knowing there might be an angel nearby, none appeared. 

They stopped in front of a wide, blank wall. Castiel sheathed his sword and nodded at Dean to holster his own. Dean jabbed his blade through a loop of his belt. 

“This is it?” Dean's tone fell far short of awe as he stared at the blank wall facing them. 

Castiel raised two fingers and held them a few inches from Dean’s forehead. “I didn’t do this before,” he said. “Didn’t want to confuse you. But now you’ve got to know. You’ve got to be able to see the reality that lies underneath. Just in case I—” He swallowed. “We should both be prepared.”

Castiel raised his brows in question and when Dean nodded in assent he pressed his two fingers against the center of Dean’s forehead. Instantly, Dean’s eyes widened. His mouth dropped open. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed. He looked up, then down at the space where the illusion of the blank wall had been. “Cas. I—”

“Heaven’s shape still lies partially outside of your comprehension, I think,” Castiel said, somewhat amused at Dean’s uncharacteristic speechlessness. “But this is as close to its true state as I think we’ll arrive at.” He looked around at their surroundings, now so different from the bland businesslike overlay the angels preferred.

Where the blank wall once stood, the first gateway gleamed like a silver pool, vertical and freestanding. It flowed gently within itself like an angel blade made liquid. “The gateways will be easier to see like this,” Castiel said, gesturing towards the slowly stirring silver. “They’re usually kept hidden. Travel on them is not forbidden, but it was long ago deemed unnecessary and removed from the primary overlay.” 

“That is friggin’ cool,” Dean said with quiet delight.

Castiel couldn’t suppress a smile at that and he touched Dean’s elbow gently with his fingers. When Dean turned his attention to him, Castiel pointed upwards. 

Above them, stretching onwards in seemingly endless, neat rows of light, shone the entirety of Heaven. 

Dean stumbled back from the gateway a few steps to take it all in. They stood in what had once looked like a plain corridor, but now resembled a dark forest path. On either side of the gleaming gateway stood individual heavens. 

From this vantage point, each heaven resembled a tree with their entangled limbs and roots stretching into an oval. In the center of each tree shone a doorway, a gleaming golden circle of light illuminated by the souls within. The trees stretched off on either side seemingly towards infinity, and the pattern was echoed in layers upon layers above and below.

“I can see why you thought this might get confusing,” Dean said with an incredulous laugh. “Holy hell. Why don’t you look at it like this all the time?”

Castiel shrugged. “It can be a bit much, don’t you think? And it shows the flaws more when the walls are removed.” He gestured at the space between the two heavens standing opposite the gateway.

Illuminated by the silver light from the gateway, they could now see something seething between the heavens. Dark tendrils rolled in the spaces around the gleaming gold roots and branches like tentacles rising from the ocean to grasp the stars from the sky. 

“What the fuck is that?” Dean breathed out, involuntarily taking a step back.

“Unharnessed, leaked power. Memories, like the one we witnessed, fade as power slowly drains from the soul occupying each heaven. Outside of the heavens, the power escapes our control. It…becomes something altogether different. It transmutes on its own. Because it’s out of our control, we - that is, angels - prefer to ignore it. But it’s there, all the same.”

“It’s like it’s alive,” Dean breathed. “It’s awesome.” The word held more weight than usual.

Castiel smiled at Dean’s obvious delight. “I would have disagreed with you years ago. Heaven was a set of static tasks and enclosed capsules, with little deviation. But now, especially with the angelic control fading, I do wonder…” He frowned at the seething darkness. “I wonder if it is alive, after all.” 

“So what happens when we set it all free?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know,” Castiel replied, solemnly. “I really don’t.” He wiped his palms irritably on the fabric of his coat. “Come on,” he said. “We need to move.”

He directed Dean to stand in front of the quivering silver portal, then laced their fingers together. “Ready?” Castiel asked.

“Ready,” Dean replied. 

They stepped forward and the portal closed around them like molten metal. 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean fell out of the nexus gateway with a pained grunt, only tangentially aware of Castiel tumbling out to land next to him. “You know what, Cas?” he said, rubbing at his aching hip. He’d fallen on his side, blade caught between his hipbone and whatever solid surface on which they had landed. It had nicked the fabric of his jeans and Dean passed his fingers over the small hole with a displeased grunt. “You’d think with all the cosmic aeons you all spent up here being eternal gardeners you could have put a little work into your portals. These are seriously brutal. Put in some brakes, man.” 

Castiel rolled over onto his back with a huff that might have been from exasperation, or amusement. “Braking was hardly necessary when you could fly anywhere with little effort. And it proved to be rather useful in slowing down or stalling any wayward human souls that managed to find themselves out and free.”

“What, these were like human traps? Dude, hate to break it to you but Ash and Charlie and all of them were running around Heaven for years without getting caught. I even used one of their pathways,” he said, thinking of the doorway Ash had scrawled onto a wall for him and Sam several years ago. 

“I’ve had the opportunity to examine the gateways left behind at one of your friends’ old encampments. They were both ingenious and not of angelic origin.”

“You mean they carved those themselves?”

Castiel pushed himself to his knees with a barely visible wince the only evidence that he had suffered from the journey as well. “Carved and created. It’s one reason why I believe our plan may work. If human creativity can be unleashed for the good of all…”

“Then heaven can be a pretty damn miraculous place,” Dean finished. He looked up and around them. In contrast with the glowing field of trees they had just left, the gateway had deposited them in a vast, deep blue plain. 

“The outer layer is nearly a void,” Castiel explained, as he watched Dean look around. “Virtually untouched by angels and largely unnourished by human souls. We’ve arrived.” 

Dean looked up and tried to wrap his brain around what he was seeing. Above them the globe of Heaven shone like a brilliant gold sphere, the sea of individual heavens far enough away so that only a blur of light was discernible. It was like standing under an extremely large greenish gold sun. 

Surrounding them stretched vast blue hills, wrapping around the edge of Heaven. If it weren’t for the globe above them, Dean would have guessed they had landed in a vast volcanic field on an alien world like some sort of Vernor Vinge novel. Dean bent down to look at the rough ground beneath him.

Dean swallowed and closed his eyes briefly, as a shock of primal fear coursed through him. The ground was translucent. Darkness lay beneath and while it should look like nothing, like black paint on a floor, he could tell it was a yawning, fathomless emptiness. He opened his eyes again and risked one more glance down before he had to look away towards the light above. “This is fine,” he said, with a dry swallow.

“The layer is sturdy. But I’d advise against looking down,” Castiel offered, in a wry tone that made Dean shoot a glare in his direction. 

“Thanks, man. Couldn’t have figured that one out on my own.” He carefully lowered his chin again, keeping his eyes on the surface details of the place. Slowly, he pushed himself to a standing position as Castiel did the same. 

The terrain was rough and Dean was reminded, as he pushed against a small upraised spur, of a plate tectonics experiment he’d been forced to do in elementary school. His class had used graham crackers, pushed together, to model the collision of continents and watched as they’d crumbled under duress. The ground here was a lot like that, full of tumultuous uplifts and crumbled peaks, large and small, formed from a millennia of a growing, changing Heaven.

He looked behind them and immediately forgot the vastness of their surroundings.

A great silver sphere spun slowly, seeming to hover before them. It was as tall as the bunker’s war room and might have just been able to fit inside of its two-story tall vaulted ceiling. Rings encircled the sphere, whirling slowly like electron orbits. “Is that it?” Dean asked. “The first node?”

Castiel nodded. “It hasn’t been disabled, so Charlie…”

“Didn’t make it to this one, at least.”

“No. I’ll know more once I can get inside of it.”

Dean squinted at the sphere. It was smooth as the flat of a blade. “You see a door in these things or…?”

Castiel made a grunting noise of aggravation. “When I’m close, I’ll be able to reach inside it, I think. The book of lore Sam found seemed to indicate that, at any rate.”

“You mean the book of poetry Sam found,” Dean corrected with a grimace. “Ain’t nothing more comforting than being guided by a metaphor.” He sighed. “So how do we get you close?” Dean eyed the whirling rings warily. They were slow moving, but seemed heavy and inexorable. If one of them ran into Castiel while he was lodged within the sphere, Dean could see it flattening him with barely a pause.

Castiel had stalked up to the foot of the node, just out of reach of the rings, and tilted his head as he walked around it. He frowned, a look of deep concentration across his face. “We stop the rings. I think our combined efforts may do the trick. Then I can reach in and depower the node.”

“Helpful.” Dean rolled his eyes. “So we do this and move on to the next. Finish whatever Charlie couldn’t get to. Then get our asses to the Garden and finish the job.” If she’d managed to make it to any of them. And even if she had, he had a hard time understanding how she might stop the massive nodes on her own.

“Yes. It should go quickly, unless—” Castiel glanced at him and screwed up his face. 

“Unless what?” Dean crossed his arms and glowered at Castiel. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Castiel looked away guiltily. “It’s probably nothing. Pure speculation.” He inhaled deeply. “There’s a chance that with the node’s shield disabled, the gateway leading back to the center of Heaven will also…go down.”

“Meaning we’d be stuck here?” Dean looked around the wide, empty terrain with its deep black underbelly. “Cas, buddy. You were planning on coming up here alone to take care of the nodes. Are you telling me you might have gotten yourself stuck up here? Alone?” _Without me_ , he thought with a swell of anger. When Castiel nodded, Dean cursed. “So how many Earth years do you think it’d take to travel through here to the next node? Or to make it to all six, plus the Garden? Assuming that you didn’t have every friggin’ angel waiting for you by the time you got there?”

Castiel looked away shiftily. “Um.”

“Cas…”

“Possibly centuries, in Earth years.”

“Centuries.”

Castiel turned to him fiercely. “It would be worth it,” he said passionately. “Worth losing my time with you on Earth to give you a free heaven.”

“And then?”

“And then…I would come find you,” Castiel said, though he sounded suddenly uncertain.

Dean growled in frustration. “You’d find me in Heaven? Cas. Man. You’re gonna be the death of me.” At Castiel’s sharp inhale he added, “Metaphorically speaking.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, sounding a little bit sorry.

Dean rolled his eyes, then uncrossed his arms and laced his fingers together to crack his knuckles. The sound was swallowed by the silence surrounding them. “And this is why I don’t let you out of my sight.” He reached out a hand to brush his fingers along Castiel’s cheek. “Well, let’s get started,” he said, a little curtly.

Castiel leaned into his touch, eyes falling shut for a moment. When they snapped open, his attitude was entirely business. “I’m ready,” he said. “Let’s go.” 

They took up positions on opposite sides of the globe. “Count of three,” Castiel ordered. “One. Two. Three!”

They both sprang for the ring whirling past on its ponderous loop around the base of the sphere. Dean gritted his teeth as pain flared into his arm as he hooked it against the ring. It felt like ice pressing under his skin and he dragged his weight into the ring further, struggling to dig the toes of his boots into the ground and slow the ring’s motions. 

The sphere moaned like an injured animal and a breeze seemed to exhale from the opaque object, fluttering Dean’s jacket at his waist and collar. He leaned into it harder and could see around the bottom of the sphere that Castiel was attempting to do the same on the other side. 

Slowly, very slowly the rings seemed to be stopping. As the one they were stalling shuddered in their hold, the others seemed to be coming to a standstill as well. The cold burrowed through his shirt and into his arm and Dean threw up those same mental walls he always used when faced with blinding pain. The arm was just a tool. Only flesh, and easily cut away. “How’re we doing, Cas?” he ground out.

Castiel sent him back a gasping reply. “Good. A little more.” He grunted on the other side of the sphere and with a sound uncomfortably close to the crack of snapping bones, the rings finally stopped.

Dean held onto it for a few moments longer, waiting to be sure that they were truly stopped. Then he stepped back carefully and shook out his arm. “Okay. That was fun. I definitely want to do that five more times.” He dug his fingers into the meat of his arm and massaged it vigorously, willing feeling to return. Then, he walked around the stilled node to find Castiel contemplating the sphere.

Castiel stood with his head tilted to the side, a telltale look written across his face told Dean that he was contemplating something dangerous, and ready to jump in regardless. Castiel looked small and colorless next to the silver sphere. Blue light turned his tan coat and white shirt into a gray blur against his suit. The shadows under his eyes seemed fathomless. 

Dean inhaled, ready to tell Castiel to be careful, or possible to stop or wait. It was an old rhythm for them, seeing the other running headlong into action. 

Castiel moved towards the sphere in one swift stride. His arm plunged inside up to his shoulder, swallowed easily. Black streaks spidered out from the contact almost instantly, crawling up his throat and growing around the grim features of his face in mere moments. 

“Fuck!” Dean leapt forward, ready to pull Castiel out of the sphere. They’d find another way; they always did. He refused to watch Castiel die - and on their first node as well.

Castiel saw him approach and shook his head frantically, jaw working into harsh lines as black spidered up the side of his face and around his set lips. “Almost there,” he panted. “Almost. Dean. Just.” 

Dean dropped his hand, tightening it into a fist against his side. Black veins continued to spider through Castiel’s body as insidious god-energy bubbled under his skin. “You get a minute,” Dean said, not even sure if he wanted to wait that long. 

“Just searching for… Ah!” Castiel cried out, but in triumph rather than pain. He drew his arm out rapidly, shaking it desperately and gestured at Dean to back away while he did the same.

The sphere moaned low and long. It seemed to morph, the perfect spherical shape wobbling into something oblong and almost ugly. With a sharp clunk the node suddenly developed cracks. At first hairline, the cracks expanded canyon-wide along the slick surface. 

Something began to howl, directionless and all around them.

It was like wind, whistling between mountain crags. Or a beast, crying with a wide-throated call across the forest to its brethren. The sound penetrated Dean’s chest and made him gasp for air. His eyes stung with unbidden tears as raw power and something more - something stranger - rattled through the air around him like static. Dean jerked away from the sphere, squinting against it as it flashed and crackled, and he and Castiel backed away and towards each other. They met at a point close to the portal. 

The silver ball cracked open suddenly, neatly, and settled to the ground like a lotus flower sitting upon the water. The fire in the air, the breathless static, ceased. A silver cloud drifted up from the cracked sphere, like smoke, like a spirit rising above it. It hovered above the broken shell and seemed to quiver in the air. 

Castiel shivered violently. Dean inhaled sharply and turned to him. “You okay?” Dean asked grabbing at Castiel’s elbow. Just feeling his arm there, solid and real, was utterly reassuring. In the shadowed borderlands of Heaven, everything seemed like a surreal dream. 

“Yes.” Castiel said, drawing in a shaking breath. “I’m fine. That was…intense.”

“Yeah? What happened? What did you do?”

Castiel shook his head slowly. “It’s hard to explain.” He held out the hand he had used to plunge inside of the sphere. “When I seek out a human’s soul, it’s easy to move my body past the matter to the soul beneath the skin. With that sphere…it was both matter and spirit. They were so incredibly intertwined. I had to sort out the two. Separate it from its shield.” His gaze fell to the broken silver lotus and his next words were spoken in a whisper, as though they stood at a funeral. “It seemed more creature than…than machine.”

Dean took a few careful steps towards the broken sphere and when nothing happened, he crouched down at its base and laid gentle fingers along the side. “I guess that makes sense. If Chuck made these, and Chuck made you and us and the Earth…” He glanced back. Castiel still stood rooted to the spot, his eyes open a little too wide and one hand flexing at his side. Dean stood rapidly and went to him. “Hey,” he said, crossing his arms and forcing Castiel to meet his eye. “What’s up?”

Castiel stared at him for a moment and then dropped his eyes to Dean’s chin. “You are a complicated puzzle of matter and spirit, Dean. And these nodes are the same. They have physical mechanisms, true, but when I reached in? When it split?” His voice dropped and he looked at Dean again. “Did you feel that?”

“Yeah, Cas.” Dean remembered the howling wind and the feeling of intense loss as the sphere began to crack. He cradled Castiel’s cheek in his palm and brushed his thumb along the unhappy crease that ran from cheek to chin. “We knew this would be hard.”

Castiel leaned into the touch. “I wasn’t quite prepared for the machineries of spirit these nodes employ.” He shook himself then looked over his shoulder towards the portal. “At least that still functions. We should go.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Castiel, but let himself be steered towards the portal anyway. Castiel liked to feign indifference, or pretend he was infused with strength of purpose in the midst of a mission. But Dean could tell he was rattled. He threw one last look back at the broken node and wondered if Castiel could teach him to reach inside and break them apart instead. Surely they could share the burden.

The portal glimmered like a pool before them. Castiel checked his blade and Dean patted his own as well. They strode forward, ready to move towards the central nexus and find the doorway to the next node. 

Ripples suddenly appeared in the surface of the portal and sounding like it was underwater, Naomi’s voice bubbled through the doorway, sharp and commanding. “Castiel. We know you’re there. Stand down and surrender to us.”

Castiel’s blade was out in a flash. Dean pulled his from his belt hastily, swearing quietly over Castiel’s shoulder. “There’s only, what? Five angels left, right?” he whispered.

“Seven. But, Dean, we can’t kill them.”

“Or the grid overloads and adios Heaven. I know.”

“If we lose even one…”

“So what do you want to do? We surrender, and it’s game over.” They could fight their way out of a trap, but that posed a high risk for the death of an angel.

“We can go through and fight. Or…” Castiel glanced at Dean and began to talk rapidly. “You’re human. Unused to galactic time scales. I don’t know if I can ask this of you but there is another way.”

“Tell me.”

“If we destroy this doorway they couldn’t get to us. Not for years. But it would mean… It would mean…” Castiel glanced to his left and Dean caught on immediately.

“We’d be trapped here. We would walk to the next node? That’s what? A year?” Castiel stayed silent, eyes narrowed in thought. “Five? Ten?” Dean swallowed. “How many, Cas?”

“Perhaps as little as fifty.” Castiel sighed and squared his shoulder to the portal. “We must try not to kill them.” He started for the portal, shoulders squared like a charging bull.

“Wait,” Dean said. He snagged the back of Castiel’s coat, drawing him back from the portal. “Wait. Let’s do it.”

“Do what?” Castiel said, although his chin dropped as though he knew the answer.

“Let’s blow this bitch. Buy us some time.” Dean laughed. “A shitload of time. We’ll come up with a new plan, or Sam will.”

“Why?” Castiel whirled around, a grimace painted his expression in harsh lines. 

“Because I can’t watch you die. Not right now.” Dean pointed at the door. “And we walk through that doorway? That’s what’ll happen. No question. Either by an angel’s hand or because Heaven’s crashing down around our ears. So come on. Toast that fucker and I’ll…I’ll walk with you.”

“Dean, you can’t possibly comprehend—”

“Don’t you go all ‘you puny human’ on me, this is not the time. Do it.”

Castiel still wore the look of a desperate, trapped hare but he nodded and turned, his blade flashing into his hand. Without another word, he raised his blade and plunged it into the core of the doorway, slashing it into a massive sigil that burned black. The silver of the gateway stopped rippling for a breath, and then began to flow rapidly into the core of Castiel’s blade. Through the connection, Dean could hear Naomi’s fierce shriek as the doorway shrunk rapidly. Then, with a small pop, the portal closed around Castiel’s blade and disappeared. They were left facing the blue-black plain.

Castiel gasped and dropped his sword. It sizzled on the ground as Castiel gripped his own palm. 

“Whoa! Shit.” Dean knelt beside him and fumbled for Castiel’s palm, pulling it into the light so he could look it over. Castiel looked at him with clear, but tired eyes, and opened his fingers. His hand looked fine. His skin was fiercely red, but unblistered or blemished by the sword. “You gotta stop doing that, man.”

Castiel’s voice sounded somewhat slurred as he said, “That took more than I thought.” He seemed grateful to slump against Dean’s grasp. “Gimme a minute.”

Dean laughed and violently quashed the urge to let that laugh transform into hysteric giggles. “We got all the time in the world, man.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “You shouldn’t have come.”

Dean snorted. “Who else is gonna dog your ass for centuries? Which way do you think we should go? You got some kind of…celestial compass we can use? First star to the right and straight on ‘til morning?” 

Dean looked over Castiel’s shoulder and down the distant midnight mountains. Something moved against the darkness there and he froze in his scan of the terrain. He blinked, then pulled his hands away from Castiel to scrub at his own face. 

Dean blinked hard, then shaded his eyes to block out the golden light of Heaven’s core. “Uh. Cas?” Castiel snapped soldier straight at Dean’s tone and swiveled to follow where Dean was looking. “What the hell is that?”

The hills were nearly indistinguishable from the empty space beyond, but in the stillness it was easy to discern something moving. Whatever it was merged and separated from the mountains fluidly, the same dark shade as the ground in the outer rim. 

Dean and Castiel watched it approach for several long minutes, then Castiel picked up his sword and stood. Dean did the same. Nerves jangled at his core and he felt his heart rate tick up even further. He forced himself to calm down, slowly breathing in air - or whatever passed for air in Heaven - and exhaling it. He muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “You know what that is?”

“No,” Castiel breathed. “But whatever it is, it can’t be good.” 

The shadow launched up from another peak and this time it was close enough to make out more details in the silhouette. Dean could see a long, sinuous body which tapered at either end where a head and tail would be positioned. Four wings raised and lowered as they seemed to half fly, half leap down the landscape towards their position.

“Yup. Definitely heading this way,” Dean said, throat tight. “Awesome.”

“Get behind me,” Castiel ordered. “And get ready to run.”

Dean looked around them in disbelief. “To where? Also, fuck that. For better or for worse, blah blah blah.”

“This is not the time,” Castiel barked. “Run!”

“You first!” For a moment they both glared at each other and then, as a unit, turned and began to run. 

Behind them, the creature howled and the sound of it crashed around them and echoed off the sterile hills. Dean’s body burned as they ran, his lungs desperately sucking in air that was not air, his boots thudding along the strange ground with so much force that Dean thought he might plunge through it at any minute. “There’s gotta be some place to hide,” Dean gasped. _Some place to regroup. Get a plan together._ Though they darted up and down slopes and tripped over upturned matter, they passed nothing which might protect one person, much less two.

It seemed inexorable when the beast caught up to them. The creature cried at their backs so close that Dean could feel the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

Castiel stopped and whirled, pulling Dean around with a solidly planted hand and shoving himself between Dean and the creature. Dean grappled with Castiel’s shielding arm until they stood side by side, panting, as the winged beast landed on the ground in front of them. 

“That’s a fucking dragon,” Dean gasped. The dragon towered as tall as a house, four wings upraised like billowing storm clouds blotting out the sphere of heavens above. Night-black feathers bristled from the creature’s body and seemed to ripple like moving water on their own accord, making it difficult for Dean to focus on any one aspect of the dragon. 

Slowly the dragon dragged its neck down towards the surface, drawing a massive head level with Dean’s shoulder. Gold from the heavens above them glinted in its eyes and stars seemed to glimmer along, or perhaps inside the dragon’s long, lean belly and it shifted around on its feet. 

Castiel stared down the shadowed creature with an impassive face. He lifted the tip of his blade belligerently and the dragon’s head bobbed as light flashed along the blade. “Get away from us,” he commanded. The dragon didn’t move, but the feathers spiked out at Castiel’s words, then flattened as though in displeasure.

“Cas?” Dean said again, with increasing urgency. “Were there always dragons in Heaven?”

“It’s an illiotai,” Castiel replied, eyes never leaving the beast. “Not a dragon. Not as you might think of them on Earth.”

“You’re gonna have to run that by me again, buddy. A what now?”

“An illiotai. It’s a cosmos spirit. I didn’t think they actually existed. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. They were—”

“Just a story. Yeah, yeah.” Dean looked up at the towering head. It wavered in front of them like a serpent and seemed to be examining them with its impenetrable eyes. The long feathers made it difficult to pinpoint where flesh began - if there was even flesh to destroy. He’d just have to wing his attack and aim for its core, or its head. “You think that node drew it here?”

“I’d say almost definitely.”

Dean held up one hand, but kept the blade held ready to attack or defend in his other hand. “Hey, Buddy. You don’t bother us, we don’t bother you. Okay?”

The dragon flicked its wings, a momentary flicker against the gold sky. 

“Why’s it just standing there?” Dean flicked his gaze to either side. They had been weaving through valleys between hills almost as smooth as glass, but one side of the slope had a rougher nap to the surface. He might be able to sprint up that hill as Castiel distracted the beast below, and throw himself on its back. He tensed his body to run and hoped Castiel would keep up with the plan tumbling into his head like video game blocks. 

“I don’t know what it’s doing. What it is. And we’ll never know if—” Castiel bit off the rest of what he was going to say as the dragon opened its mouth, revealing layered rows of teeth like a shark, each one as sharp and bright as a blade.

A ringing filled Dean’s ears, as piercing and sudden as an angel’s true voice. Dean gritted his teeth as tears sprang to his eyes. Desperately, instinctively, he clapped one hand over one ear and rushed forward with his blade ready to slice. The ringing filled his head. Consumed him.

Dean’s vision blurred as the shrieking tone cut through him and he stumbled on one of the uplifted rocks, knees twisting as he fell sideways to the ground. Pain sung through his body, made all the worse by seeing Castiel down on the ground. His hands were also attempting to shield his ears and he was curling in on himself like an injured animal, mouth wide in an anguished cry that Dean could not hear. 

“No,” Dean might have said it, or may have only tried to say it. He concentrated very hard on getting his feet under him again. He staggered for the dragon, blurring vision fixing on the solid trunk of one leg. 

The dragon stepped over him like he was a pebble on the ground and Dean lost his balance from trying to track his movements. Vertigo overwhelmed him for a moment and the dragon and the translucent ground and the massive sphere of Heaven whirled together into a sickening blend.

Dean shook his head and looked up. He was on his hands and knees, blade pressed into the ground. The legs of the dragon surrounded him like a pen. One of them lifted, a hazy tree trunk moving in the corner of his vision and he fixed his gaze on that, only to cry out in horror. 

The dragon took one long knuckled paw and pushed it against Castiel’s writhing form, knocking him to his back so that he lay spread out and gasping on the surface. In a flash of sweeping feathers, it pushed its paw onto Castiel’s chest. 

Castiel would have arced up if the dragon hadn’t been pushing him down. As it was, Dean saw the sinews of his neck strain, his face red and contorted with pain. There was a flash of silver and then a meteor-brief streak of blue. 

The angelic shrieking from the dragon ceased, modulating to the howl they’d heard echoing over the distant hills. Castiel had cut at the creature’s foot with his blade and a wide swath of grace-blue light from the cut illuminated Castiel’s grim face as he struggled to free himself.

Dean spat blood from his mouth, head clearing now that the audible assault had ceased, and lunged for the leg pinning Castiel to the ground, driving his blade deep into it. 

There was a bark, then a sharp jerk as the dragon released Castiel and lifted the injured leg up and away. The knife slid out with some difficulty and Dean rolled to avoid the dragon as the creature flailed its forefeet. “Cas?” He sprinted for Castiel, who still lay on the ground. Injured? Dean couldn’t tell. 

The rushing sound of wind was all the warning he got. Something large and solid rammed into his side, sending him tumbling end over end across the uneven ground. Dean managed to stop himself several yards from where he’d been, and tried to scramble upright. His blade was gone - knocked out of his hand - and he clenched his fist impotently. A very large head hovered feet away, eyes unreadable pools. The dragon shifted around while the head stayed positioned in front of Dean and he tried to steel himself for whatever might come next. Would the dragon maul him? Eat him? Dean looked at the rows of razor teeth and hoped fervently that if he couldn’t get the upper hand, then his demise might at least be fast. If he died in Heaven, would his soul be vulnerable to the beast as well?

Quick as a bullet, the dragon bowled him over, sending him flat on his back with one paw pinning Dean’s arms to his sides. Two digits held him to the ground, effectively immobilized, and sharp pins of feathers pricked through his jacket and into his skin. A third digit rose into the air like a striking cobra.

Dean understood what was going to happen only a moment before the middle digit descended, aiming straight for the center of his forehead.

The talon fell fast and paused delicately at the skin between Dean’s eyebrows. It pressed into his forehead like a railroad spike, too blunt to slide in cleanly and hard as iron. 

Almost lovingly, the dragon’s talon pierced Dean’s forehead. Dean screamed in agony as the claw dug into his skull.

And then everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean groaned and opened his eyes to nothingness. He stared wildly around, desperate to focus on any object, however nebulous. He could push against something beneath him, but his eyes found nothing to focus on in the absolute dark. More the memory of pain than an actual physical ache burned between his eyes. “The fuck?” he muttered, hands pushing wildly around him. 

WHAT ARE YOU?

The question pushed insistently into Dean’s brain and he winced and scrubbed fiercely at his forehead. It itched. “Cas?” he called. “Cas?”

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

“Cas!”

WHAT ARE YOU?

Dean grunted. “Could ask the same of you, ya creepy disembodied—”

Before Dean, a figure faded into existence, slow as watercolors bleeding onto a canvas.

It was the dragon. The creature stood in front of Dean, nearly translucent in the still, empty space. Stars gleamed in its throat, or through it. The dragon seemed smaller, somehow, and their wings folded over their back like overlapping petals. 

The dragon twisted their massive head to one side. WHAT ARE YOU, they asked again.

Dean struggled to push himself upright. Pain sung through his bones. “Where’s Cas?” When the dragon said nothing he asked, “Where’s the angel?”

INCONSEQUENTIAL.

“Like hell he is!” Dean spat. “Is he okay? Did you hurt him?”

The dragon twisted its neck into an acrobatic bow. HE IS UNINJURED.

Dean looked around him. There was nothing and nobody except himself and the dragon. “Yeah? Where is he?”

NOT INSIDE YOUR HEAD. Amusement seemed to ripple through Dean like lapping waves. WHAT ARE YOU?

“Human,” Dean said shortly. He pushed himself to standing then dusted off his pants and jerked his shirt back to rights irritably. 

The beast twisted its head further and examined him from an upside down position. Starlight glimmered through the gaps revealed between its feathers, visible just beneath its jaw. YOU ARE VERY STRANGE.

“Yeah? Look who’s talking.”

The dragon shifted forward quickly and like an arrow striking home, they bumped their nose against Dean’s chest. Dean’s hands flew up to defend himself, or push it away. To his surprise, the dragon withdrew as suddenly and gently as it had made contact.

Dean’s mouth dropped open as the dragon tilted its head quizzically to the side and watched him through narrowed eyes.

The dragon asked, YOU ARE CORPOREAL. WHY ARE YOU HERE IN THE SPIRITUAL DIMENSION? Delight seemed to shimmy between them.

“I’m human,” Dean supplied. “Both me and Cas. A little bit.” He figured he could fudge the details of Castiel’s nature if it meant the dragon might treat Castiel with as much gentle curiosity as it seemed to be displaying towards himself. “And you’re a…dragon?” He tried and failed to remember Castiel’s word for it. “Illio…Cosmos…something?”

I AM BORN OF COSMIC MATTER . The dragon’s wings swelled like a bubble at their back and Dean got back the distinct impression of smug superiority.

“Well, that’s just peachy,” Dean said. “Why did you attack us?”

YOU DESTROYED THE SHIELD.

Dean stepped backwards warily, hands itching for a weapon. “Yeah…” he said slowly. “We did.”

WHY?

The question was a simple one, but Dean spent a long time formulating an answer. “Heaven’s dying. Falling apart.”

HEAVEN?

Dean pointed fruitlessly down at the oblivion-black ground beneath him. “Where we are? You know, Heaven.”

IT IS DYING?

“Can’t you feel it?”

IT IS WEAK. The dragon spread its wings and flapped them once, whipping up a brief whirlwind that sent the tails of Dean’s shirt flapping. BUT HOW AM I TO KNOW? PERHAPS THIS WAS ALWAYS ITS STATE.

“Well, believe me. It’s dying. And when Heaven falls,” Dean guessed wildly, “you’ll die too.”

DIE? The dragon seemed to explore the word. INTERESTING.

“Yeah, it’s a real party. Look. Cas and me - we’re trying to save Heaven. Let us go and—”

THE FIRMAMENT’S FIELD CAN BE REPAIRED.

“Yeah, well, not without a busload of angels and that ain’t happening. You got some of those under those wings of yours? No?”

The dragon twisted their head again and narrowed their eyes at Dean. I AM NOT IN POSSESSION OF ANY ANGELS BUT IT IS NOT IMPOSSIBLE TO LOCATE MORE.

“What? How?” 

THE EMPTY CONTAINS AN EXCESS OF THE ANGELIC HOST.

“You can go there?”

I DO NOT KNOW. BUT I AM BORN OF THE COSMIC ENERGY FROM THE DAWN OF—

Dean shook his head. “Never mind. Forget it. We don’t want that.”

WHY? MORE ANGELS WOULD FIX THE FIELD.

“My kind. Humans.” Dean patted his own chest with an open hand. “We live out our afterlives in Heaven. But we’re trapped up here. Prisoners.” An edge of bitterness crept into his tone. “We’re promised that when we die we can go up here and see the people we love again. But they’re all just shadows. Memories. I want more.” He shook his head. “After everything, I deserve more. And I’m gonna fight for it.” Anger boiled up from from a hotly churning pit in his stomach. “I’ll fight you. The angels. The whole machinery of Heaven if I have to. Some things are worth—”

The dragon swung their head towards him and Dean leaped back, but they only brushed the tip of their nose along Dean’s chest again. YOU ARE VERY EMOTIONAL, they said, delightedly. VERY COMPELLING THINGS, YOU HUMANS

“Thanks,” Dean muttered. “Let me go and—”

The dragon fluffed out all of its feathers. I CANNOT.

“Why?” Dean challenged it back. 

I AM A GUARDIAN OF THIS SPHERE. It sounded sorrowful at the last revelation. I CANNOT.

Dean narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms consideringly. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

The dragon shifted clumsily on its feet. 

“Who sent you?” Dean shot back. “Naomi? She only wants the status quo. Limping along, more of the same. More prisons, more pain and nobody out of line.”

IT IS MY DUTY, the dragon said. I HAVE NO CHOICE.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you always got a choice. Please,” Dean pleaded. “Let us go.”

The dragon seemed to retreat, swaying its head from side to side. NO CHOICE.

“No such thing,” Dean said fiercely. “You look pretty damn strong. Stronger than any angel I’ve ever met. I’m pretty sure you got all the choices in the world.”

THE NODE. A shimmer of nervous energy seemed to split the space between them. THE NODE IS DISABLED. THE GATES WILL FALL.

“Yeah, that’s the general idea.”

THE END WILL COME.

Dean felt his chest tighten at the words. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly, “when you say ‘the end’?”

THAT IS WHAT SHE SAID. Confusion leaked through the connection.

“Yeah, well, she lies when it suits her. What we’re trying to do? It ain’t the end. It’s the beginning. When the we’re done Heaven will be free. Souls will be free.” Understanding washed over him. “You’ll be free, too.”

The dragon’s tail coiled tighter around its feet. FREE, it said. FREE?

“Yeah,” Dean said breathlessly as hope rose like a bubble in his chest. “Free. Everyone’ll be free. Humans. Cosmic dragons. Angels, even. In all your long, long life,” he said, remembering a similar conversation with Castiel, “haven’t you ever taken anything for yourself?”

The dragon shook its head ponderously, like an elderly elephant bothered by a fly. 

“Please. We just want to live more. Deeper. And not be imprisoned for all eternity when we die.” 

I AM NOT A PRISONER. I AM NOT A HUMAN. I AM GREATER THAN A HUMAN

“Buddy, I’ve got nothing against you. But you’ve been sent out here to what? Kill us? Hold us?”

LEARN YOUR SECRETS AND DETAIN AND DESTROY YOU

“Okay. Well. That’s direct.” Dean rubbed at his aching forehead. The strain cut like a hot knife between his eyes. “You were sent here by an angel. Why should you do what they tell you to do?”

IF I HELPED YOU…

“Yeah?” Dean said and hope flooded him with useless, exhausting optimism. 

IF I HELPED YOU THEN WOULD I BE FREE?

“Of course,” Dean said, hoping the dragon couldn’t detect the absolute uncertainty underlying the words. “I’ll do anything I can to free you, yeah. To help you.” He opened his hands, pleading. “Just let us go. We gotta disable the other nodes. Get to the garden. And we need to do it fast. The angels know we’re here.”

I CAN HANDLE ANGELS

“Awesome,” Dean said cautiously, because that statement might also include Castiel. “Castiel. He’s trying to help me.”

AN UNUSUAL ALLIANCE, the dragon said with a shift of its feathered back that resembled a shrug. 

Combativeness rose in Dean at that and he opened his mouth to reply when the dragon said easily, BUT NOT UNPRECEDENTED.

“Great,” Dean said. “Okay. So you’ll let us both go, no strings attached? We finish the job and everyone wins.”

I WILL DO IT.

Dean sagged in relief. “Can you, uh, return me to—?”

Between one blink and the next, Dean was transported. No longer was he standing in the deep gray mist of his head. His eyes crossed as he watched the dragon’s claw retract from his forehead and lift off of his body. Slowly, the dragon removed the weight of its paw. “Fuck,” Dean breathed, as sensation returned like a raging flood leaving a bitter ache behind. Then, “Cas?” He rolled to his side and struggled to stand. “Cas?”

With a blur of tan and black, the dragon settled Castiel down on the ground next to Dean like a doll set onto a table. Castiel’s knees collapsed beneath him as the dragon unhooked his paw and withdrew. Castiel clutched his forehead with one hand. With the other, he fumbled for Dean with all the fervency of someone who had just spent way too long in a dream-state.

“You too?” Dean groaned, falling into Castiel with a relieved grunt. 

“I’ve been speaking with the dragon,” Castiel said quickly against his ear. “And I’ve convinced it to let us free.”

“You did, huh?” Dean said. He rolled his eyes at the dragon bobbing its head delightedly behind them. “That’s great.”

Together, they stood, leaning into each other as they faced the dragon.

“Well. Thanks,” Dean said. “We’ll be off. Unless you know of a shortcut to the next node?” He said hopefully. He cringed, expected the ringing tones of angelic speech to deafen him again. 

THERE ARE NO SHORTCUTS.

Dean slowly brought up two fingers to massage his temple. “Dude, we’re still in my head!”

OF COURSE NOT. The dragon flapped its wings sharply. THIS IS REALITY, HUMAN.

Dean sighed. “Okay. Well, appreciate the lack of screaming this time. Nice talking to you. We’re just gonna go…follow the yellow brick road.” He stared beyond the dragon at the yawning stretch of black hills.

I CAN FLY YOU THERE.

Dean laughed shortly and next to him, Castiel jerked in surprise. “You would fly us to the next node?”

The dragon rumbled deep in their chest. NAOMI WILL BE MOVING AGAINST YOU. IF YOUR PLAN WILL SUCCEED, YOU MUST MAKE HASTE.

“And you’ll take us? Both of us?” Castiel asked casually, as though negotiating a free shot of espresso.

“This feel like a trap to you?” Dean muttered, still pressed into Castiel’s side. “Feels a little too easy.”

NAOMI’S COMMAND IS WEAKER HERE. AS LONG AS I DO NOT APPROACH THE GARDEN…

“And…of course you could hear that.”

I HAVE EXCELLENT HEARING.

“If we don’t try, it’ll be years,” Castiel said, his fingers digging into Dean’s side. “I don’t see that we have that much choice.”

Dean shook his head at Castiel, then leaned against him, sending him swaying. “Right. Fine. Flying on a dragon? Check that off the ol’ bucket list, right?”

Castiel rolled his eyes expansively. “Let’s go,” he said, hauling them both upright. Together, they retrieved their blades and sheathed them before climbing onto the dragon’s back. 

Dean sucked in a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

Castiel leaned into Dean and for just a moment he let himself relax against him, arms looped around his waist. He closed his eyes, chin hooked over Dean’s shoulder, and breathed in the scent of him, warm and alive in an otherwise ethereal world. Supporting them, the dragon raced over the massive expanse of Heaven’s outer rim. They soared up to impossible heights only to plunge back down for purchase on the jagged surface below, wings stretched out long and impossibly wide. 

Dean held on very tightly, one hand clutching a fistful of the dragon’s feathers and the other in a vice around Castiel’s wrist. Their legs brushed against each other as the dragon rocked beneath them, warm and comforting. Feathers from the beast hid their legs up to the knees and wavered in the dragon-crafted breeze. 

There was too much at stake to entirely enjoy this, but Castiel allowed himself to look around with interest. He’d never been to the outer reaches. There’d never been a need. His calling had been to watch over the humans in their care, or to wage war for Heaven. Curiosity was not endured in angels.

Heaven seemed smaller up here. Billions of souls occupied it, in a cluster so bright as to appear like a wild sun above them. But out here, so close to the empty black Heaven seemed like a very fragile creation, indeed. The mountainous border from higher up looked like delicate crystals forming on the surface of a bubble, more sharply transparent against the vacant space beyond. Castiel was struck with its fragility.

When he’d been in the Empty he’d walked for days. For centuries, it seemed, before the entity ever spoke to him. If they failed in their quest to reboot Heaven, where would souls go? Surely not Hell and eternal torture. Not the Veil where man and angel alike went mad. That left eternal oblivion in the Empty. The unjustness of it burned in Castiel’s throat. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, bringing his mouth close to Dean’s ear. “Are we doing the right thing?”

Dean snorted and relaxed enough to rock his head back against Castiel’s shoulder. “Hell of a time to question a mission, Cas.”

“If we fail there will be no refuge for humankind.”

“So we don’t fail.”

Castiel sighed and leaned his forehead against Dean’s shoulder. “I’m struggling with regret,” he said into the back of Dean’s jacket.

Dean reached for Castiel’s wrists and pulled him close into a tight embrace. “Hey, we talked about this.” He twisted just enough to shoot an overly dramatic glare backwards. “You’re gonna feel like shit about this no matter what. Messing with Heaven? You can’t just shake off hundreds of millions of years of training.”

Castiel laughed a little wildly. “I do all the time these days.”

“Well, I believe in you. I believe in this mission. We’re doing the right thing.”

Closing his eyes, Castiel allowed himself a brief smile. He brushed his lips along the edge of Dean’s collar to press a slow kiss to the warm skin of his neck. “Dean Winchester, the infamous man of faith.”

“I am where it counts.”

“Yes. You are,” Castiel agreed. 

They settled into contented silence as the miles chewed by. At last Castiel asked, “Illiotai, how far yet to go?”

WE ARE NEARLY TO THE SECOND NODE

Dean muttered something obscene, yet grateful. “You think they’ll be there? Naomi and her assorted henchmen?”

“I’ve been wondering about that,” Castiel confessed. Naomi’s strategy was typically to move swiftly and decisively. That she had called out to him through the portal but not pursued him and cornered them seemed strange. Perhaps she’d been relying on the dragon to entrap them. Perhaps she was unwilling to risk the demise of further angels. “Naomi and I are at cross purposes, but we both wish to preserve Heaven as a haven for souls. Perhaps she will not confront us directly. I have…a history, after all.”

“You think she’s gonna spring a trap on us?”

“I can’t fathom of what nature. But yes, I would be surprised if there wasn’t an attempt made. The fact that we are able to move quickly and out of the range of the central nexus gives us a great advantage in that regard.” Castiel patted the dragon’s soft feathers where they lay across his thigh and the dragon crooned. He frowned at them, running a careful finger down the central shaft. Light seemed to flare from within at his touch. “What is your name, illiotai?”

I HAVE NO NAME. I SIMPLY…AM

Dean huffed a laugh. “Feels a little weird to just call you dragon. It’d be like you calling me ‘Human,’ you know?”

IT IS INAPPROPRIATE TO CALL YOU HUMAN? The dragon sounded surprised and Castiel stifled a laugh. 

“There’re a lot of us. Call me Dean.”

“And I am Castiel.”

YES THE HUMAN INFORMED ME OF YOUR NAME ALREADY

“I think it’s messing with me,” Dean said with mock outrage. “We outta call you _something_.” 

“Elbathis?” Castiel said, still stroking the feather. “It means gleam-in-the-night.”

Dean chuckled and raised one of Castiel’s hands to press a brief kiss on his knuckle. “Nice,” he whispered. 

“I learn from the best,” Castiel intoned in his most serious voice. 

The dragon seemed to ignore their exchange and instead said after a long pause, ELBATHIS. IT IS GOOD. YOU WILL CALL ME THIS?

“‘Course,” Dean said. 

Castiel squinted over Dean’s shoulder. Past the beating wings he could see the great silver sphere of the second node looming. Below it shimmered the doorway to the nexus portal, still intact. He could not see any sign of a waiting ambush and he heaved an expansive sigh. “If we can finish this quickly,” he said. “Stay ahead of them? We might be able to move on the Garden before they have a chance to create an adequate plan. Elbathis, has Naomi tried to contact you at all?”

NO, OR I AM TOO FAR. Beneath them, the dragon twitched like a horse flicking insects from its skin. THERE IS STILL A CONNECTION. A…COMPULSION. BUT IT FEELS DISTANT TO ME.

“She must still be at the core?”

“Or a node further afield,” Castiel said with an edge of pessimism. 

In no time they alit by the second sphere. Just like the first one, it stood two stories tall with massive rings encircling it and whirling slowly in its orbit. Elbathis helpfully grasped the groaning rings, pinning them with neck and wing and limb. While Elbathis held the rings, Castiel plunged his arm once again into the heart of the sphere. He could feel the shield pulsing around his arm like a living thing, bright and strange and practically eternal. Castiel set his jaw against the god energy and the wonder of the creation and twisted his grace into the node. This time went faster and he walled off the part of himself that railed against him for his destruction, the blood on his hands. _He was only good for breaking things. Only good for…_

Castiel grunted, twirled his grace, and severed the connection between the node and the shield. 

They were finished in nearly a third of the time as the first one, but this time when strange thunder rolled across the mountains as the sphere cracked, no new beast appeared in the sky. 

“Are there more of you?” Castiel asked as they mounted the dragon again and settled into the matted ridge between Elbathis’s wing pairs. He couldn’t help but feel an affinity for the dragon, however imagined. They were a heavenly creature, born of divine spirit and apparently made as yet another cog in the great cosmic machinery. Yet they stood on their own and spoke in their own voice. They rebelled against Naomi’s orders with far more ease and speed than Castiel had ever approached disobedience. “Were you born? Or made?”

I DO NOT KNOW. Elbathis sounded curious and their wings stuttered as though while in deep thought they had forgotten to fly. I AM. AND I WAS. BUT I WAS NOT ALWAYS…AWAKE 

“What do you mean?”

I DO NOT REMEMBER. Elbathis’s massive head moved back and forth, weaving a silhouette against the terrain below. I WOKE FROM DARKNESS. FROM THE YAWNING SPACE BETWEEN THE LIGHT AND THE DARKNESS. I WOKE WITH THE COMMAND TO SEEK YOU AND THE HUMAN.

Castiel looked up at the yawning space between the translucent mountains and the golden sphere of power above them. “You woke with the mission. Do you recall nothing from before?”

The dragon was silent for so long that Castiel thought the question had been ignored. Finally, it said I REMEMBER LIGHT. ROLLING IN IT, GREEN AND VITAL. STEEPED IN GLORY. I REMEMBER…A TOUCH. EYES IN DARKNESS. WINGS IN LIGHT. NOTHING MORE.

“Sounds familiar,” Dean said with a comforting stroke along Castiel’s leg. “Heaven’s pretty good at screwing people over. I guess dragons fall into that, too.”

Castiel wondered if that could be true. He’d spent millennia as a steady soldier, loyal to the basic directives of Heaven. Tend to souls. Battle darkness and evil where it grows. Never once did he learn or even contemplate the notion that there could be more in Heaven. More variety. More life. The dragon thrummed with grace. Castiel could feel it when he ran his fingers through their feathers. Elbathis was born of Heaven, or created to exist in this plane. And that was extraordinary. Unprecedented, to his mind. How many more such creatures existed, teeming in the dark reaches of Heaven just waiting for the spark calling them to wake? Once again, he regretted how little he had learned of Heaven in his time ruling it. He’d been far more occupied with fighting battles or watching over Earth - over Dean and Sam. How much he had missed. How little he truly knew.

Castiel felt like a leaking sieve of regret and he tried to wall it up inside him, suspecting that Elbathis could sense far more than they let on. 

Elbathis flew them to the third node and then the fourth. As they were remounting, Dean caught Castiel’s eye. Dean looked troubled, mouth pinched at the corners and a wince compressing his stare. “D’you feel like this has been too easy?” he asked.

“It does,” Castiel replied, gravely. The longer they remained unmolested, the more likely it seemed that doom awaited them. His heart raced on rabbit feet. The longer they went without attack, the worse he felt.

It almost came as a given, therefore, that soon after they had landed at the fifth node the portal near it rippled and four angels emerged, led by Naomi. 

“Castiel. Dean Winchester,” she ordered as soon as she’d rolled neatly to her feet. “Stop this madness.”

“Elbathis!” Castiel shouted, reaching down in front of Dean to grasp a handful of feathers for better purchase. “You need to go now!” If they escaped and fled for the sixth node, they could regroup anywhere in the quiet abandoned spaces of Heaven. But Elbathis didn’t move. The four wings lowered to the ground in a feeble droop and a whine escaped from the dragon. 

“Illiotai,” Naomi commanded, stepping in front of the dragon as though she encountered such fantastical beasts every day. “Drop them.”

“Dean!” Castiel struggled to hold onto the dragon’s back but Elbathis shivered violently, feathery spine undulating, and both Dean and Castiel quickly careened off , tumbling to the sharp ground below. 

Castiel hit the surface hard, striking with his shoulder and endeavoring to twist his body into some semblance of an acrobatic landing. An agonized grunt escaped his lips but a moment later he’d managed to get his feet under him and whirl towards their attackers. 

Elbathis had bucked them off away from the angels, and a low keen filled the air, deep enough to rumble the ground beneath Castiel’s feet. The dragon hunched down, belly sliding low to the ground like it was injured. Like it was a wall of feather and spirit.

From the other side of the dragon, Castiel heard Naomi spit, “Move aside.”

Elbathis moaned. GO. The voice in Castiel’s head was feeble, pained. It was also right.

Castiel scrambled back towards the node, catching Dean’s eye as he whirled. They threw themselves against the slowly whirling ring. Fear and necessity lent them strength and the rings were secured quickly.

When the rings stood still, Dean nodded sharply to Castiel in the fraction of a moment when their eyes met and then pulled his blade from his belt. “I got this, Cas. You finish this job.” 

“You can’t hurt them, Dean,” Castiel reminded him as he pushed his sleeves back and pressed his weight into the sphere. He ground his teeth at the pain of the spidering god energy coursing through him. His own agony mingled with that of the node’s shield like an echo bouncing between canyon walls. 

“Elbathis!” Dean shouted and tried to sprint around to the dragon’s other side. The dragon knocked him sprawling. He slid along the ground towards Castiel. 

I CAN HANDLE THEM. Their mental voice seemed to quaver. 

Castiel watched Dean race towards Elbathis and a blue glow caught his eye, at first unseen in his struggle with the node. Elbathis glowed grace blue on the side facing the other angels and above the din of blood in Castiel’s ears, he could hear the dragon’s increasingly high-pitched whine. Castiel grimaced in sympathy. They were slicing Elbathis up in their attempts to stop them from disabling the node’s shield. Castiel also suspected that Elbathis was thrashing against Naomi’s orders. He’d experienced the weight of Heaven’s command himself and the compulsion to follow orders burned, he knew, like acid against any resistance. 

Castiel’s fingers twitched in the node, palm caressing the essence of the thing. _Almost there. Almost done._

Dimly, he could hear Dean shouting over the bulk of Elbathis at Naomi. “Stop this, Naomi! It’s over.”

Elbathis moaned. STOP. STOP.

“Out of the way, you sorry excuse for a guardian! Dean Winchester, I should have killed you years ago.”

 _Almost there._ Castiel’s fingers caught at the essence of the node and pulled it away from the shield, setting it loose. 

Elbathis howled again and Dean shouted over the din for the dragon to _move, move! Let me at the angels._

A bright flash of blue sparked from Elbathis as the node released and the shield splintered and settled onto the ground. Castiel mustered up his strength and sprinted for the dragon who was pinning Dean behind them with one leg while their tail lashed through the air, keeping the advancing angels at bay.

Castiel pushed at Elbathis’s leg hard. “It’s done!” He shouted. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

The dragon didn’t move, perhaps so lost in agony that it couldn’t properly hear them. Castiel pulled hard at Elbathis’s leg and Dean coiled himself, leveraging his feet against the ground to push up and away. At last Dean was able to pull free. Castiel grabbed his arm and shouted in his ear, over the din of the dragon and shouts of the other angels, “Get up there. We can still fly out of here!” 

As Castiel followed Dean’s scrambled ascent up the dragon’s back, he hoped it was true. As his head crested Elbathis’s spine, he saw that the dragon’s hide glowed blue with deep and shallow slashes alike. Wounds which would kill an angel leaked like vaporous blue blood, but beneath them Elbathis still hissed and howled in incoherent agony and growing rage that turned the mental connection to a deep crusting crimson. “Elbathis, we can go. We must go!” Castiel said, as the angels turned their attention upwards to Dean and Castiel settling between the dragon’s wings. 

Below them, Naomi’s lip curled. “You shortsighted fools,” she hissed. “Destruction may always be your go-to method. But I assure you, it’s not the best way. I know you’re trying to untether the grid but when you do, you’ll release everything that provides order.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me,” Dean said, his blade unwavering in his hand.

“Elbathis, go!” Castiel shouted. He could see the blades shifting in the other angels’ hands. They were getting ready to throw their blades. Aim for heads and hearts of more than the dragon this time.

Feathers carpeted the ground at the angels’ feet and Naomi stepped forward. Her arm raised high. 

“Elbathis, can you fly?” Dean asked as they took in the extent of the dragon’s injuries. 

“Don’t know,” Castiel said when Elbathis didn’t answer, but only shuddered beneath them. Castiel tensed, prepared to vault down to the ground and try to disable as many angels as he could before sheer numbers and the prohibition against killing impeded their efforts. 

Perhaps there would be time between their demise and the collapse of Heaven to finish disabling the nodes and free the power of the souls. Perhaps they’d freed enough of the tethers that Heaven might break free on its own, like a beast snapping through the last few cables penning it to the ground. The end loomed before them, an impenetrable wall.

Suddenly, Elbathis flipped their wing, nudging Castiel and Dean backwards into the saddle of their spine. Castiel grabbed for feathers, desperate for purchase, as the dragon coiled to the ground and vaulted into the air, leaving the marauding angels behind in a haze of hacked feathers and grace.


	5. Chapter 5

“That was close,” Dean said grimly. He had draped himself across Elbathis’ neck and was pressing one hand against one of the dragon’s wounds. Grace whispered out between his fingers and the dragon shuddered, losing altitude. “We gotta land.” Dean pounded his fist against Elbathis. “Hey. You hear me? You gotta land, buddy.”

“There,” Castiel said, pointing out a smooth bowl just ahead of them. “Land there.” He didn’t say, and hoped Elbathis couldn’t sense his thoughts, that the dragon had sustained terrible injuries. He wondered, as the dragon clumsily landed, if he was directing Elbathis to their final resting place. What happened to a cosmos creature when it died? Would a reaper guide it to the Empty? Was there a soul to guide? Or would it simply be absorbed back into the dimension which brought it life? 

Elbathis landed in an awkward flurry of feathers and half fell to the ground as soon as their feet touched down. Dean and Castiel were thrown from the dragon’s back, rolling down one of their long wings to the ground. Castiel rolled to his feet immediately and ran to help the dragon. 

Slashes of blue light covered the creature. From this angle, Castiel could see that the cuts covered the dragon’s neck and tail, wings and belly. It was hard to find a place the angels had not sliced to ribbons. They’d been busy but then, as the last angels in Heaven, they knew how to fight and fight dirty. 

Castiel threw off his coat and pushed up his sleeves. The hair on his arms stood at the power rolling out of the dragon. “I’m going to heal you,” he told Elbathis. “Hold still. This may hurt.”

Castiel closed his eyes and extended his hands so that they hovered over the dragon. He could feel the essence of the dragon now. Slowly, he began to knit the hide back together. 

Healing was never a simple matter. Distressed flesh never wanted to knit together, no matter if the memory of it being whole sung in its cells. Wounds of the spirit were even more difficult. Elbathis was a creature of the cosmos, born of the fire of creation. Their substance, while tangible, was far more complex than any mere stretch of mortal flesh. To heal Elbathis was an intimate act. Castiel had to merge a branch of himself into the dragon. He felt like a tributary stream, whose banks might soon be swallowed by a river. The feeling of being washed away mounted higher until Castiel had to shudder, and break away.

Castiel opened his eyes and let his head fall forward to rest on Elbathis’s hide. He gasped against it, feeling weak and strange. 

“Cas? You okay, buddy?” Wearily, Castiel rolled his face towards Dean, who sat at Elbathis’s head with the dragon’s neck stretched across his lap. Dean stroked their nose gently, but his attention was wholly on Castiel. “Talk to me, man.”

“I’m—” Castiel let his eyelids drift shut for a moment. “I’m fine. It’s not enough,” Castiel said, and was surprised to find it came out slurred. His knees collapsed beneath him and he leaned forward, barely aware of Dean’s shout. “I’m sorry,” he said as Dean pulled him back, cradling him carefully and pressing his palms along his face. “I don’t have the strength. With the nodes. The effort of it… And now Elbathis is dying.” As soon as he said it, he knew it was true. 

The dragon moaned quietly in agreement and despair.

“Use me,” Dean said, hands slapping against Castiel’s face. Castiel blinked heavily and focused on Dean’s face with effort. “You’ve used the power of a human soul before. Do it again. Cas, I’m ready. Do it.”

When Castiel did nothing, Dean gripped his shoulder and grabbed at his hand, pressing it to his own chest. “Do it, Castiel. Use my soul. I’m with you in this, remember?”

Castiel tugged at his hand half-heartedly, more in protest than to reclaim it from Dean’s grasp. “It’s dangerous under the best of circumstances.”

Dean’s mouth drew up in a half grin. “Dangerous times,” he said. “Elbathis is dying, Cas. And we’re stranded out in the middle of the ass crack of Heaven. We got one more node. One more, then we make our move on the Garden. If we can heal Elbathis then we’re golden, man. Come on.”

Castiel considered Dean for a long moment, panic and possibility warring within him. It was Elbathis’s long, involuntary moan that decided him, however. He pressed his shoulder to Elbathis, letting the dragon take his weight, and pulled Dean down with him. Castiel leaned in and pressed his hand to Dean’s chest. And just like pressing into the node to find its inner mechanism, Castiel reached into Dean and felt for his soul. 

It was there, white hot and powerful. More heady and wild than any grace Castiel had ever felt. The raw power beat just below Dean’s skin and Castiel pressed his fingers and his grace into it and pulled. He set his other hand on Elbathis’s side and willed the dragon to heal while he stared past Dean’s eyes. Into Dean. Power coursed between the trio and Castiel felt, rather than saw, the dragon’s wounds knitting together, its feathers mending. 

When it was done, Castiel tried to grin at Dean. Distantly, he knew Elbathis was healed. He could feel the dragon’s elation about being whole once more. Castiel drew his hand away from Dean’s body and soul. He watched Dean collapse to the ground just as his own vision swam, then closed up like a shuttered window.

* * *

When Castiel came to, it was to fingers gently carding through his hair and the awkward hum of Metallica. Castiel screwed up his face. “Are you…singing to me?”

Dean laughed and leaned forward so that Dean’s face was all Castiel could see. He kissed Castiel gently. “Maybe,” Dean admitted. 

“Is Elbathis—?”

I AM RECOVERED, THANKS TO YOU AND DEAN.

“Thanks to you, we got away,” Dean told the dragon. “That was…you didn’t have to do that.”

I COULD NOT KILL THEM BEFORE YOUR MISSION IS COMPLETED. HEAVEN LIVES THROUGH THEM UNTIL YOU DISABLE THE GARDEN. BUT I WANTED TO.

Castiel grunted and pushed himself to sitting. “You did well, Elbathis. Are you well enough to fly?”

“Whoa, whoa.” Dean glared at him. “You just woke up from being passed out for who knows how long. Take some time to rest. Not long,” he said placatingly as Castiel opened his mouth to protest. “Give yourself a minute, okay?” He yawned expansively. “That was hard on everyone. Including me.”

They settled down to rest beside Elbathis. In the bowl of mountains, Castiel could almost fool himself that they were alone in the outer rim, and free. He leaned into Dean and let his eyes drift closed, but his mind churned over the task yet to come. They had one more node to disable after which they would have to fight their way to the Garden and destroy the central nexus that channeled Heaven’s power through the angelic host. With the nodes offline the power would no longer be siphoned from the individual heavens into the grid. And if the theory was correct and the tablet hadn’t led them falsely, then souls would sustain Heaven from that point onwards. It was a heady and terrifying thought.

“You think with the locks off the doors, people will make it out here someday?” Dean was lying with his fingers laced over his chest, staring up at the golden sphere of heavens. 

“To what purpose?”

Dean laughed. “People don’t need a purpose to travel around.” 

“I suppose they might travel here. Without the Host’s constraints laid upon Heaven, it’s possible that growth may be substantial.” Castiel thought about the network of human carved pathways leading throughout Heaven like ant trails in a fallen log. “Even with a powerful leash upon them, humans have done much to mold their surroundings. It is my hope that without the controls and the crackdowns… If we release the grid and unlock every doorway, I cannot imagine the potential. Every human arrives as a token of infinity, wrapped up in story and invention. I hope Heaven becomes stranger, more beautiful. It may become, without the limited vision of angels, something truly like paradise.”

They were silent for a while, the only sound in the isolated bowl was Elbathis’s feathers shifting beneath their touch as they preened. “What if we screw it up?” 

“I have faith,” Castiel said gravely, grateful that Dean could not see into his mind and see how doubt and worry still clouded his choices. “Now get some rest.”

“Cas?” Dean said after a long period of quiet.

“You’re not resting,” Castiel said, eyes determinedly shut. 

Dean snorted softly in acknowledgement. “Just want you to know. If this doesn’t work out the way we want. If I die, you gotta go back to Sam.”

“No,” Castiel replied placidly, but a familiar anger twisted in his gut. 

“Cas.”

“No, I am not leaving you to go to Sam. Not to fight Heaven from afar again. Not to battle monsters one by one on Earth.” Castiel lifted his head and turned to glare at Dean. 

Dean met his stare with apparent calm, but a muscle jumped in his jaw where he ground his teeth together. “You got all of eternity to find me again. And friends on Earth. Ain’t no reason why—”

Castiel crossed his arms and scowled. “Did you know our marriage is meaningless?” At Dean’s look of shock he felt vaguely smug. “Meaningless to angels. To Heaven. To ‘eternity’ as you call it. It’s meaningless to the fate of the world. To everyone. Except me and you.” He jabbed a hard finger at Dean’s chest. “I chose this for a reason. To quote you, kindly fuck off about it.”

Dean’s eyes were wide and he gulped, then wrapped his hand around Castiel’s rigid one and brought it up to his lips. He held the blade of Castiel’s hand against his mouth, exhaling and closing his eyes. Gradually, in the warmth of Dean’s hands, Castiel relaxed his own. “Okay,” Dean said at last. 

“Okay,” Castiel grunted. “Now get some rest.” Beside him, Dean’s shoulders jumped as he let out a sharp laugh, but he lay still from then on. After a while, Castiel let his head drop again to Dean’s shoulder, frustration and fear and love still churning into a dizzying mix in his gut. He understood Dean’s reticence, even as he resented it. Castiel had only spent seventeen years of his nearly uncountable life with him. Eternity, from that perspective, seemed like an impossibly long time. Dean didn’t understand eternity, the way the days and years blended together into a solid wash of duty and routine. They’d had a hard time together, he and Dean. But it had also been the best time. 

They sat quietly, locked in their own thoughts, as the heavens spun above them.

After a long almost slumber, they flew to the last node. To Castiel’s surprise, there were no angels waiting to greet them there. Castiel disabled the sphere and as it cracked open and thunder ricocheted around the farthest reaches of Heaven, something seemed to snap at the center of his grace. This was it, then. The broken angel, the destructive one, was headed to the Garden. Castiel prayed that he would not live up to his darker appellations. _Please. Please let this be the right path._ “We need to get to the garden,” he said, rolling his sleeves down in a businesslike manner. 

“They’ll be waiting for us.” Dean was staring at the silver gateway, one hand on his blade and his jacket pushed away to one side. 

“Yes. And I still don’t think we can destroy them. Not until we untether Heaven fully from the Host. Otherwise—”

“Fire and blammo?”

“Blammo,” Castiel confirmed solemnly.

“Great. Fighting dicks with swords…but not killing ‘em always works out great.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “If they feel anything like me, they will be far closer to your own capabilities.” At Dean’s sharp look he said, “Already the energies of Heaven feel distant to me.”

“You saying I can knock ‘em out?”

Castiel ran a weary hand through his hair, palm dancing over his own head which was suddenly far more vulnerable. “It seems like a definite possibility.” He turned to Elbathis. “Are you coming?”

Elbathis shook their head ruefully. I CANNOT. COME FIND ME WHEN YOU ARE DONE.

A cocky smirk lit up Dean’s face. “Hate to break it to you, Elbathis, but I gotta take a fast train back to Earth after this. How about I find you in…” He looked up, his tongue pressing a thoughtful lump into his cheek. “How about I look you up in about forty, maybe fifty years?”

“More, if I have anything to say about it,” Castiel said solemnly. He held out a hand to caress Elbathis. “Thank you for everything.”

FINISH THIS. AND BE CAREFUL. And with that, Elbathis launched into the air and flew off into the cracked mountain landscape. 

“Abrupt.” Dean turned his smile on Castiel and it grew as he said, “Reminds me of you when we first met. Always flapping off without another word.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, and they watched the dragon fly away until Elbathis was just a speck bounding over the horizon. Then Castiel grabbed a fistful of Dean’s jacket and pulled him in for a long, fierce kiss. Dean melted against him, lips warm and greedy. He slipped his arms beneath Castiel’s coat, around his waist, and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt as well. Castiel tried to push all his love and worry into the kiss, and Dean was equally greedy, licking and biting and sucking like they’d never have any of this again. 

“No matter what happens,” Dean murmured against his mouth, between breathless caresses. “Love you, Cas.”

Castiel pulled away at that, stilling them both, and then pressed in one more time to kiss Dean gently. “Love you,” he said quietly before pulling away at last. They stood in the circle of each others’ arms for a long moment, mingling breath. “Let’s finish this.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Dean said. He stepped back, fingers sliding away from Castiel’s waist. Castiel followed him as he led the way through the portal, back to the central nexus. 

* * *

They emerged in a tumbled heap along the worn trail that joined the nexus gateways. With Dean’s eyes newly open to the underlying structures of Heaven, his vision cleared to see a smooth path worn into the black, the heavens closest to them brightly shining through their tangled root and branch configurations. The farther heavens and distant paths were blurrier and difficult to discern, almost fuzzy. Dean wondered if it had something to do with the teeming black matter between each soul’s root. He nudged Castiel after they’d both righted themselves and directed his attention to the space across the pathway between the two closest heavens. “That seem a little more…intense to you?”

What had once been slowly moving matter now seemed to heave like the swell of an ocean. Castiel didn’t say anything, but his jaw set into hard angles and he gestured sharply for Dean to follow him down the pathway. They took a steep turn upward and inward, the pathway bending like an Escher stairwell beneath their feet. “We’re nearly there,” Castiel murmured as they sprinted down one path, then another.

A high, anguished shriek of pain split the stillness of Heaven. Dean and Castiel froze, hands on each other and blades out warily, Dean automatically circling to guard Castiel’s back. The scream pierced the quiet again and this time Dean recognized it. Ice poured through him. “Charlie,” Dean gasped. He’d recognize that voice anywhere, he heard her cry out often enough in his dreams. 

“For the last time.” Charlie’s voice was distinctively her now and she spoke between groans, “I’m not gonna tell you anything.”

“It’s too late, Celeste.” Naomi’s voice echoed coldly down the path. “Your accomplices have all been captured. Ellen and Jo Harvelle. Kevin Tran. And all the others who’ve been scurrying around Heaven like vermin in walls. They’ve all been sent to the Empty where they’ll cause no more trouble.”

“So that’s where they’ve gone.” Charlie’s voice dripped with acid. “I’d wondered when I couldn’t track them anymore. Is that what you’re gonna do to me, too? ‘Cause I call bullshit or you wouldn’t have stuck me in jail for so long after you captured me. No, you need me for something.” 

There was another sharp cry then, “Tell me who you communicated with, and how, Ms. Middleton. I won’t ask again.”

There was a silence so prolonged that Dean could hear the thudding of his heart in his ears. “So send me to the Empty. It’s worth it, just to have tried. All we wanted was to build a better Heaven. A stronger one. You can’t tell me it’s not—” Charlie’s voice cut off in a whimper. 

“You liked that? Was that worth it?” Naomi’s voice sounded cold. Detached. “How about I send someone to bring your parents? Your mother? They’re just souls. I’ll carve them up. I’ll never—”A clatter of metal on metal echoed down the hallway. “Think about that for a while,” Naomi snarled then she barked, “Bring her back to her cell. Let her stew on this.”

Dean couldn’t stand to listen to more. He turned to Castiel, not daring to speak but desperate to act. Castiel, to his relief, wore an expression of barely restrained rage. Dean jerked his chin sharply toward the voices and Castiel nodded once. Dean knew then that they were in agreement. If they could save Charlie without jeopardizing their mission, then they would. 

There was nowhere to hide in Heaven, no nooks or crannies aside from the sealed and soundless heavens around them. When swift footsteps began to echo in their direction, they soundlessly retreated along the path, pressing themselves on the other side of a blind corner. With the projection of Heaven dissipated, Dean expected he’d be able to just stare straight through the curve of the corner and watch the approaching angel. Instead, the turns in the path seemed to coincide with a thickening of the air, the black substance teeming between the heavens reaching higher than their heads and obscuring adjacent pathways. 

So it was as much of a surprise to Dean as it was to the angel roughly escorting Charlie back to her jail cell when they rounded the corner. Dean and Castiel acted in tandem, like coordinated dancers. Dean lunged to cover the angel’s mouth while Castiel aimed a sharp blow to the angel’s temple. The angel, who had been grasping Charlie with both hands, had only enough time to meet Dean’s eye. And then he was releasing Charlie and slipping to the ground, eyes fluttering closed. 

Charlie stumbled backwards and Dean caught at her elbow, steadying her and laying a finger along his lip. She nodded at him, wide eyed, as Castiel crouched and muttered over the fallen angel. 

Castiel had torn away the angel’s collar. With his blade he traced a sigil over the angel’s chest in sharp, bloody lines. “Castiel,” the angel mumbled, feebly trying to bat away Castiel’s hand. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry, brother,” Castiel said. He cut open his hand and pressed it against the sigil so that light flared sudden and sun-bright in the dark pathway. When it dimmed again, the angel lay staring placidly upward, lips slack, but breathing. Castiel leaned away and said, roughly, “Get up and hide yourself from the others.” To Dean’s surprise, the angel pushed himself upright and swayed on his feet for a moment before turning to the nearest heaven. He opened the doorway in the gleaming tree and stepped through it. The door swung closed again silently, light welling around the gaps as it sealed. 

Castiel stood with his fists clenched, staring at the doorway.

“What the hell was that?” Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head and his tone dripped with distaste. “Control sigil,” he said shortly. “He will hopefully stay hidden until the job’s done.”

“Hopefully?”

Castiel’s shoulders lifted a fraction, then dropped. “First time I’ve done it.”

“You’re here,” Charlie whispered behind them and Dean swiveled immediately. “You’re here! How far did you get? How many nodes do we still have to do?” Her eyes were wide and fierce. For a moment she looked so much like the other Charlie that had come through from the apocalypse reality that Dean’s chest hurt. Then her mouth trembled and she reached across the path to twist her hand in Dean’s jacket. She tugged and they met in the middle of the path in a hard embrace. “Missed you bitches,” she whispered in his ear. She rolled her chin against Dean’s shoulder, arm reaching out, and then she was pulling Castiel into her arms as well. 

The three of them stood in an awkward embrace for a long moment, then Castiel pulled away. His eyes were narrowed into deep furrows and Dean got the impression that he was struggling hard to reign in his emotions. “We should go. We need only disable the final component in the Garden and then it’s done.”

“Then we’re free?” Charlie whispered, her eyes lighting up.

“Then we’re free,” Dean confirmed. “C’mon.” He gestured and they followed Castiel up the twisting pathways towards the Garden. The three of them paused outside of the gate. 

The gateway to the Garden bloomed with coiling tendrils of light so bright that Dean could only look at it out of the corner of his eye. He squinted at the brilliance, then at Castiel. 

“Angels only from here on in,” Castiel told them. He wasn’t meeting Dean’s gaze, but instead seemed to focus on a spot just below his ear. 

Dean slid his palm along Castiel’s chin, nudging his face upward, and put as much of his desperation and need as he could into his next request. “Come back to me, Cas,” Dean told him and pulled him in for a brief kiss, wishing - always wishing - that they had more time. 

Castiel nodded and squared his shoulders and Dean’s heart plunged to his gut. He knew, just knew that Castiel refused to promise anything he wasn’t sure he could deliver. The Garden was taboo for most angels, and the central control had never been meddled with in Castiel’s recollection. He raked one last long look over Dean, as though he were memorizing him, and then turned and disappeared into the portal. 

He stood, stomach twisting in worry, momentarily forgetting to watch the pathway for intruders. And then Charlie elbowed him hard in the ribs. Dean looked down, startled. 

“Dude,” she whispered, a broad smile growing. “You and Cas!”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, yeah. You knew it all along. I’ve heard it all before.”

“I’m happy for you, man. How did you—”

Enemies arrived sooner, and from a more unexpected direction that Dean would have guessed. Charlie was interrupted by a rush of wind as the gateway blew open. Castiel walked through it, his fists at his hips and an angel blade pointed at the edge of his jaw on one side, and his ribs on the other. A shimmering silver rope encircled his arms, pinning them at his sides. A piece of his coat had been torn away and jammed into his mouth as a gag. Castiel screamed around it in warning, but it was too late. 

The two angels that flanked Castiel herded him to the side quickly and Naomi and Anael sprang through. Charlie, who was unarmed, was quickly seized by Anael, wincing as the angel’s blade cut into her gut. 

Dean backed away, wary eyes on Naomi, with his blade raised and ready for battle. His gaze flicked between Castiel and Charlie, assessing their readiness to fight. _Doesn’t look good. That’s fine. It never looks good._

Naomi smirked at him. “Dean Winchester. I knew you would not be able to resist saving your friend,” she said smugly. “And now I have you. I have all of you.”

“Give it up, Naomi. It’s over,” Dean said, his mind racing for a way out of their predicament. He could take on one or more angels, but he had no guarantee that they wouldn’t just slice their way through Castiel or Charlie before he could free them. What even happened to an injured soul, anyway? Still, he always had bluffing on his side. “The nodes are falling as we speak. Look around you.”

“The shields can be repaired,” Naomi told him cooly. “Now, are you going to come quietly or do I need to start slicing up the prisoners?” She nodded sharply, once, and Castiel and Charlie both let out twin grunts of pain. White and blue light flared from their blade-induced injuries. 

Still, Dean held up his blade. _Got to be a way out of this. Got to be._

Naomi said, “Again,” and light flared on either side of Dean again. Charlie whimpered, then looked at Dean as though in apology. It was that look which broke him down.

“Alright,” Dean said, flipping his blade up to hold the handle outward. “Okay. You got me.”

“Drop it. Kick it over.”

Dean suppressed a disappointed hiss and did as she asked. Naomi took charge of him herself, blade settled in the hollow at the back of his neck. It dug into his skin. A trickle of blood warmed his spine. 

Naomi led the group in the opposite direction to which they’d come until they arrived at a nearby room. It was likely the place she’d been torturing Charlie, judging by its proximity to the Garden’s gateway. 

From the dark, wild pathway, the room stood out as an anomaly. While the heavens surrounding it were the same green-gold treelike structures Dean had seen throughout Heaven, this doorway was a wide, rectangular entrance. It gleamed pale against the dark paths and visible through it were sterile walls, like those of a hospital. 

As they entered, Dean noticed a desk against one wall and a platform in the middle of the room. Behind him, he heard Charlie whimper and there was a scuffle that Dean turned to see, even as Naomi dug her blade deeper under his skin. 

Castiel was struggling against the angels that held him, cuts blooming along his cheek and his side as he tried to push his way free from the rope. 

Dread sank low in Dean. “Whatever you think you’re gonna do,” Dean said, trying to keep his voice even and calm, “think again. We’re doing the right thing and you know it. There aren’t enough angels to sustain all these souls. You’ve gotta shut down. Reboot the system.”

“The system isn’t broken, Dean Winchester. This is so typical of you humans. Such simple approaches to problems.” Three more angels entered the room. “Watch this one,” she said and two of the angels took up guard on either side of Dean. The other wavered near Castiel, seeming to await orders. 

Naomi picked up her blade and approached Castiel. She held the tip to his throat and looked at him, head tilted. “Hold him still,” she ordered sharply and the two angels swept Castiel’s feet from him and pinned him to the floor. “There are more ways to achieve stability.” With one swift move she bent down and cut a slit into Castiel’s throat. Blue-white grace glowed from within and Castiel’s chin thrust upward, seemingly immobilized from the cut. 

“Cas!” Dean cried out, struggling against his captors. But there was nothing he could do. Naomi took a slim glass vial and held it to Castiel’s throat. His grace poured from him and settled into the glass container. When his throat faded from blue to red, Naomi stoppered the vial and pressed a quick finger to his throat. The cut healed. 

“There,” Naomi said with a satisfied air. “One problem solved. Your grace may prove instrumental in repairing the damage that Metatron inflicted on Heaven years ago. We shall keep this on hand.” She leveled an exasperated look at Castiel who lay gasping and shaking, his eyes only on his grace in her hand. “We shall make far better use of it than you ever did, Castiel. Now. What to do with you three?”

“We could send them to the Empty as well,” one of the angels said earnestly. “I’ll summon a reaper.” 

But Naomi shook her head. “No. Castiel has escaped that place far more frequently than should be possible. No. I think I know where you should be.” She began to circle them. “Heaven’s prison has been broken far too often to function properly, and Hell or Purgatory have never been reliable allies. But there is a place I think you could go. A place in which you could reside quite happily while we work to repair the damage you’ve caused to the nodes and power network.” She smiled pleasantly.

Dean rolled his eyes. He just needed one slight moment of inattention. One moment, then he could seize her and grab Castiel’s grace. “Oh yeah? Where? We’ve got allies. People who’ll come looking for us up here.” 

“Let them try,” she said pleasantly. “At any rate, they won’t find you in Heaven. I intend to send you to Earth.”

“I—” Dean found he didn’t have a response. But he didn’t need to wait long to find out her plans. 

“Time passes quite slowly on Earth compared to our Heavenly sphere.” She gestured around them. “While we revert your appalling damage, you’ll all live out the rest of your mortal lives on Earth.”

The relatively mild nature of the punishment floored him and he could tell by the way Castiel had narrowed his eyes that he was in agreement. That sounded far too easy. Dean waited for the other shoe to drop. 

“Wipe their memories,” Naomi instructed the other angels. “Send them to new lives on Earth, far away from each other.” She gestured with her fingers and suddenly a wicked, long syringe was in her hand. Naomi waved at the table. “Who’s first? Ms. Middleton, I think.”

Dean raged against his captor as Charlie was muscled onto the table, her eye pierced until her screams subsided, and face went blank. “Very good,” was all Naomi said when she was done and one of the other angels hauled Charlie up from the table and took her from the room, her eyes shut tight.

Naomi motioned for Dean to be brought forward. Iron hands gripped him and he was dragged to the table and strapped down on it. Once he lay there, he felt paralysis take over his body so that all he could do was stare at the ceiling in dread. On the far side of the room, Castiel was tearing himself to pieces against the other angels, muffled cries coming from his still-gagged mouth. Then a sound of bone cracking against something hard split the room, and Dean heard nothing further from Castiel. 

Naomi frowned sorrowfully down at Dean. “He’s not dead,” she said. “Just injured. Still, you won’t be bothered about him soon enough.” She held up the long needle. “Not once I’ve removed all traces of him from your mind.” An almost gentle smile stole over her face as she said, “Go live your life, Dean. Live it well and you may yet return to the fields of Heaven. Perhaps the next time, you will find some peace.”

The needle burned Dean’s eye, his brain, his soul. He remembered the first time he kissed Castiel. Hunting monsters as a child in his father’s shadow. Watching over Sammy in quiet hotel rooms. Long talks with Charlie in her rare visits to the bunker. The warm length of Castiel in his bed. Showering together. Eating meals in the kitchen surrounded by family. As the pain increased, the memories seemed to sift more frequently as well. They flicked just under the surface of his mind as Naomi nudged them one by one behind a massive brick wall in his brain. 

Dean remembered Castiel pressed up against him on the back of Elbathis, chin hooked on his shoulder, lips pressed to his ear. All of Heaven curved around them, the cosmos at their fingertips.

And then that was gone too, and Dean’s world went dark.


	6. Chapter 6

## Part Two: Heaven is a Place on Earth

**One year later**

Dean’s eyes flew open, heart racing from something he couldn’t remember. The stucco ceiling of his small apartment was water stained from past leaks, spreading brown stains gathered like overlapping pools above him. Dean stared at them and took deep breaths, palms pressed flat to his chest. He had dreamed about flying again. 

The flying dreams didn’t happen every night. He seemed more likely to have them when he’d been working on a night shoot and had dragged himself to bed late, too tired to eat much before rolling under the covers. It was almost like his brain only conjured these dreams when he was at his weakest. 

The shaking was subsiding now, and Dean went over the dream as he lay abed, shot too full of adrenaline to fall back asleep. He’d been flying in the open air over mountains. Sometimes they were green and gold, bursting with light and life. Sometimes they were shuttered and gray granite or deep, black obsidian. Always, Dean plummeted in his dream between wild extremes of comfortable joy and heart stopping terror. 

Inevitably, the support would fall away and he’d plummet towards the earth like a meteor chasing fire. He always woke mid-fall, his heart racing. 

Dean licked his dry lips and scrubbed at the corners of his mouth, blinking rapidly as he acclimated to the soft daylight streaming in. By the looks of the light, he’d woken up a full hour before his alarm again. Groaning, he rolled over onto his belly and pointed his toes and arms into a long stretch. Then, with a sigh he pushed himself up into a sitting position and swung his legs out of bed. 

He was up. Might as well get going early again.

Dean arrived at the studio at a little after six, aiming a casual wave at the guard at the entrance as he hitched up the backpack slung over his shoulder. He smiled as the rising sun gilded the tops of the massive sound stages with silver. This early, the studio seemed lit with ethereal grace as a rosy glow filled the sky. It was perfect, a dream. But it was never perfectly quiet and the buzz of activity warmed him up just as well as any coffee. 

A four-wheeled gator sped ahead of him, zipping equipment between the large production stages, and a gaggle of wild-eyed men and women swarmed from the commissary clutching steaming coffees and half-shouting about some plotline on their show. A woman tore past, laptop clutched to her chest. She froze, midstride, like a cartoon roadrunner. When she turned she said in dripping tones of relief, “Smith?”

“At your service. You’re one of the new writer’s assistants, aren’t you?” She nodded and Dean noticed that she had the imprint of a paperclip branded onto her cheek and flecks of mud from yesterday’s scouting excursion still painted her jeans “Ava, right? Did you sleep here?”

“Um. Not on purpose?” She brushed her dark hair back from her eyes. “I wasn’t planning on sleeping at all.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You know Ms. Anderson wants you to go home, right? Use that apartment of yours?” Ava grimaced and hitched her laptop higher. Dean sighed. “Okay, What d'ya got for me?”

“I need to get new pages printed but the one in our office jammed and Sam said I could use hers but she’s not there and I don’t have a key and I--”

Dean held out a hand. “Okay. New pages. I can do that, Ava. Did you email it to me yet?” She shook her head. “That’s fine,” he said in his calmest tones. “Why don’t you sit right here and send it to me.” 

Ava settled onto the curb like a drained balloon. “Thanks,” she said with a shaky laugh. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels as he waited.

“Sent.” Ava looked up with a sheepish smile. “Thanks, Smith.”

“Don’t mention it. Now, you run off and grab a burrito. I’ll take care of it.” He waved away her effusive thanks and she got to her feet again and made her way up the lot’s wide avenue to the commissary. Dean chuckled and crossed the lot to get to his show’s main offices and tackle his first battle of the day: the office printer. 

Just a half hour later, with fresh copies in one hand and a coffee in the other, Dean ducked his head into Kannika Anderson’s spacious office. She sat at her desk, absorbed in her computer while she absently doodled spirals onto a notepad. “Hey, boss,” he said cheerily, nudging the door wider with the toe of his boot. “Brought you coffee and pages.”

She took a moment to register his presence and when she did, it was with a sharp scowl. “Smith. Please tell me that’s got eight shots of espresso in it.”

“Just the one,” Dean grinned, crossing the room and setting her cup down on her desk. He waved the pink pages in the air. “New pages for today.”

“I thought Ava was--” She broke off as Dean shook his head. “Do people still think I’m the Wicked Witch of the West here?”

“Something like that. If it makes you feel any better, I think it’s really working for you. We’ve all been extremely productive.”

“Well.” Kannika took them with a frown. “These are late.”

“By an hour. Printer broke again.” 

As Kannika rolled her eyes and flopped backwards in her chair, her fiercely professional mask shattered. “That’s the second time this month,” she groaned. “I swear, it’s haunted.”

“Call in a priest. I hear they just got one on The Vampire Elite.”

Kannika frowned delicately. “Just...no. I’ve seen him in costume. He wears a muscle T with a cross printed on the chest. And leather pants.”

Dean snorted. “Okay. Wow. That I’ve gotta see.” He slapped his palms to his thighs. “You got everything, boss?”

Kannika nodded her head, already paging through the copies in her hand. “Thanks, Smith.”

“You got it.” Dean headed into the hallway, greeting people as they started to straggle into the offices He headed into the cramped office he shared with the other production assistants and pulled out his headset. As soon as he settled it over his ear and swiveled the mic towards his chin, he felt transformed. Working on the show, he’d found purpose. Every day he swept in and put out fires, made someone’s day a little less like hell. His past might be a series of blurs and blanks. He’d never gotten his memories back after the accident, and after a year, it looked like he never would. But he’d found a home at last. 

The day dissolved into a wash of tasks, helping the sets run smoothly, ferrying food, paperwork, and messages to the people who mattered to the show - and to the people that mattered to him. He rode the wave of the day like he did every other, heading home at last as the sun dipped below the buildings of Vancouver. Dean dragged himself to the bus stop, weary to the bone and ready for a hot shower followed by oblivion. 

_This is my dream job,_ he reminded himself, heating up a bowl of ramen in the microwave even as exhaustion threatened to swamp his will to eat it. _I love this show,_ was a mantra he repeated while brushing his teeth, noting the tired pallor under his eyes. It was all worth it - the grueling schedule he’d endured for the past year, the exhaustion, the terrible wages. “You are part of something bigger than you, Dean Smith,” he told himself in the mirror. “You help make Doctor Sexy. Who could ask for anything more than that?”

He fell into bed and let the oblivion of sleep take him, ready to start it all again tomorrow. That night, blissfully, he did not dream. 

* * *

Castiel squinted wearily at the red, rusted out truck sitting uselessly in the gravel driveway of the Berger family farm. 

“J’en ai ral le cul! Piece of junk,” he spat at it, fingers curling into fists where he rested them on the edge of the hood. It wouldn’t start again and the small village’s only mechanic was away for the weekend. 

Fingers delicately ran along his shoulder and came to rest there. Gerard, finished early from shoeing the farm’s two remaining horses, laughed behind him. He leaned over Castiel to peer at the inner workings of the truck. “You should make them sell that monstrosity. Buy something sensible. Something newer. I hear the dealer in Meaux is having a sale.”

Castiel sighed. “They could never afford it.” The Bergers were elderly, with a subsistence-level wheat farm in the agricultural bowl of Paris. They could afford to hire him, along with a few other basic services, but a new truck - or even a used one - was an unattainable luxury. ”Besides, I’ve gotten this to work before.” Castiel looked over his shoulder and met Gerard’s amused gaze. “I can do it again. Get behind the wheel, will you?” Castiel reached in and rechecked the wires running through the engine like a disorganized squirrel’s nest, like he could read what was wrong using only his fingertips. “Engine won’t turn over,” he muttered to himself. “Think.” He slipped his fingers down to the a dirt-encrusted cap over part of the engine as an idea surfaced. “Gerard,” he said. “Come help me with this cap first.”

Not too much later, Gerard crowed in triumph as the engine turned over and caught. “The timing belt,” he said, jumping from the cab to marvel at the smoothly running engine. “Such a small thing to matter so much. Castiel, you are a true renaissance man. Wherever did you learn to fix a truck?” Gerard approach the front of the truck, eyes alight with merriment and, unless Castiel was mistaken, friendly interest.

“Ah,” Castiel ran his tongue over his teeth. “In my prior life. Long ago.” This was potentially true. Though any memories beyond the past year were apparently permanently gone, he was good at troubleshooting their recalcitrant truck. Surely that had something to do with his prior life? Auto repair was something he felt out largely by instinct, only supplemented by occasional forays into town to use the internet at the local eatery. 

He shut off the engine, then bade Gerard farewell and watched him climb into his own much newer truck around and disappear down the drive in a cloud of dust. Gerard was an interesting new development. He’d seemed, over the past couple of weeks, to find a never ending list of reasons to visit the Bergers’s farm. Each time he was quiet and gracious, more help than hindrance in whatever task in which Castiel was engaged. Each time he sought out Castiel. 

Castiel stared unseeing at the end of the driveway, and wondered for a long time about what to do. 

Later, Castiel drove into town, braced for the truck to fail catastrophically and pleasantly surprised when it continued to run reliably. Since arriving at the Berger farm to be their man-of-all-work, there were some things for which he felt an instant affinity and affection. Repairing their ancient truck, building up their crumbling apiary, taking the horses for wild gallops so fast he felt like he was flying - these all felt like second nature to him. He was more than a strong back to the Bergers, more than a shiftless, rootless pair of hands. 

He drove back to the farm in the waning evening hours with the windows rolled down. It was approaching the harvest, and sunshine and warmth were once again things he’d grown accustomed to. Castiel smiled at the whir of insects in the fields and the swooping clouds of sparrows looping through the sky in the dusk. It was beautiful here. Peaceful. 

Evenings like this were precious, with the burden of the heavy work on the farm behind him for the day. Castiel felt in moments like these like he could stay on the Berger’s farm forever, or as long as they would let him. He thought vaguely about his past. He’d learned like a brand seared into his skin that opportunities weren’t to be wasted and from now on, his new life would take advantage of the good things as fully as possible. 

He pulled into the drive and parked the truck in front of the elderly couple’s home. Pierre and Georgette greeted him as he opened the kitchen door, bags over his shoulder and in his hands. He bade them to sit back down in front of their television program and put away the groceries, then begged their leave, pleading exhaustion.

It had been a long day, Castiel mused as he opened the truck and removed his own groceries. He was ready to rest and relax. Night fell on the small farm and Castiel made his way to his small cottage by the dim gray dusk. He followed the old stonework fence up the lane to the little fieldstone cottage. Faded paint flaked off the door as he pushed it open and Castiel ran his thumb along it. Perhaps he would take some of his saved wages and buy a gallon of paint. If he was going to stay here for a long time, he might as well turn it into a home for himself. 

On this optimistic note, he put away his own groceries, made himself a small dinner, then retired to a comfortable overstuffed chair to eat his food and read. 

Castiel lost himself in the novel, a thrilling story of blade and revenge, and turned in just a half hour after sundown. He prepared for sleep and crawled into bed, drawing the covers around him with a happy sigh. This, surely, was contentment. 


	7. Chapter 7

The party teemed with coworkers and friends of coworkers, streaming in and out of the spacious house one of the cast members had rented for their birthday. Dean had spent barely an hour indoors before the need to get outside and away from the crush of people set in. Dean leaned against a low stone wall, legs splayed out comfortably, and took another sip of his drink as conversation washed over him.

Twinkling holiday lights looped overhead, lighting the sculptured grounds in gentle gold, imbuing the party with a dreamy, soft-focus quality. The realization swept over him that he was starting to feel the alcohol working through his system. He had a vague sense in years past that his tolerance had been higher, perhaps ridiculously high. Yet here he was, feeling warm and flirtatious on his second glass of the night. How…embarrassing. Dean stared down at his drink. 

“Everything okay?” Susan from Post nudged him with her elbow and he blinked at her, grinning to cover for his momentary feeling of rootlessness. 

“Yeah, I just realized I don’t get out much these days. And then I started to wonder about before....”

“Your accident,” Susan frowned sympathetically. “Still no memories?”

“Nothin’” Dean shook his head. “I haven’t been to many parties since then. Guess I was wondering if it’s always been that way.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Dean, you sweet summer child,” she said, although he was at least five years older than her on a crew of young, eager recent graduates. “You’ve gotta stop working so hard and start living. I thought this whole job change was your fresh start. No past, awesome future. Shouldn’t you be out partying with the kids?” She waved towards the house, where the windows gleamed blue and purple from the pulsing lights inside.

“Way to make it sound creepy,” Dean said. “And I got no time to party unless I don’t want to sleep. Ever.”

“Sleep’s overrated.” On his other side, Paulo grinned as he passed both hands through his lime green hair. He was an electrician on crew, and the one who’d strong-armed Dean into coming that evening. “Anyway, you never answered the question.”

“What question?” Dean frowned He had been a little out of it, sure, but he’d been following the conversation just fine. 

Susan gestured expansively towards the crowd. “Who do you have your eye on? There’s gotta be somebody.”

Dean spluttered. “Naw.” Excuses rallied to the forefront of his mind and were discarded. He didn’t have much time, or money, or a car and those combined seemed like a very good reason indeed to not date. But saying it out loud suddenly seemed a little pathetic. “I’m happy single.”

“Bullshit,” Susan said. “Anybody who loves Doctor Sexy as much as you - and don’t even lie to me, Dean Smith. Anybody who loves it that much is a fucking hopeless romantic. And we—”

“Are gonna set you up,” Paulo finished. He pulled out his phone.

Dean waved his hands and aggressively shook his head. “No. I mean, I’m flattered. But no.”

“Why not?” Paulo and Susan asked in unison. 

Susan laughed, and continued, “We’re matchmaking pros. You know Colin and Anne? Set up by us. Amal and Steven? Us.”

“This is nice, guys. I can tell you’re…excited about this? But I’m good.” He looked around at their eager faces. ”Don’t even know what got you thinking about me, anyway.”

Paulo crossed his arms and leaned in. The scent of sour apple liqueur rolled off his breath. “Because you’re not an asshole,” he said seriously. “And you keep Anderson happy and that’s practically impossible.”

“Basically, we want you to stick around Vancouver.” 

“So you want to set me up on a date, so I’ll stay at my job?”

“Pretty much,” Susan said cheerily. She reached for Paulo’s phone and flipped it over so that Dean could see an organized chart displayed on the screen.

“Is that a…checklist?” Dean asked in disbelief, before taking a long swallow of his drink.

“We’re very organized,” Paulo said and Dean shook his head, chuckling.

“Fine. I’ll play along.” He picked up Paulo’s phone and scrolled through the checklist. “Let’s see, pets, kids, zodiac sign. Favorite Spice Girl?” Dean asked, eyebrow raised.

“It’s scientifically important,” Paolo assured him. 

“But most important, who do you go for?” Susan asked. “What’s your type?”

Dean blew air through his cheeks. “Listen. Guys. I’m not—” He looked at their determined faces and deflated a little. “Okay. Uh. Nice, I guess? And funny. Someone to watch movies with.”

Paolo rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, Smith. Quit with the beauty queen answers. What about looks?”

Dean closed his eyes. “Do I have a type? I guess…dark hair. Gorgeous eyes.” He grinned. “Killer smile.”

“Ooo,” Susan said at the same time Paulo gasped, “Zora!”

Paolo grinned at Dean, with something approaching predatory anticipation. “Zora,” he said, “would be perfect.”

Dean downed the rest of his drink. “I’m really not interested in being set up, guys.” But even to his own ears the protest sounded feeble. It had been a long, long time.

He took an uber home, letting the idle chatter of the driver wash over him. He should relish the idea of a hot date, or a night out with someone new and intriguing. Instead, he felt exhausted by the idea. He was forty. Did he really need somebody else in his life? 

That night Dean dreamed of a tall, dark, mysterious someone who was broad and hard in all the right places. He dreamed of threading dark hair through his fingers. Of lips and hands and a smile that ignited desire in him strong enough to melt through into waking. He woke up with the feeling of a thirsty man in a desert full of mirages. 

* * *

A warm palm traveled down Castiel’s spine, resting finally against the soft curve of his thigh. Castiel let the light pressure guide him down into the exquisite body writhing beneath him. Hard lines, soft skin. His lips traveled up a broad chest. There were fingers in his hair, combing and tugging.

Castiel woke up sweating and sick and despite that, incredibly turned on. He blinked up at the ceiling for a moment, lit dusty-gray by the weak dawn light straggling through the curtains. His stomach churned and his—

 _God._ Castiel’s hand traveled down his body, chasing the dream. The odd dizziness faded as his pleasure crested, and by the time he stumbled to the shower the dream lay discarded in his rumpled bedsheets.

The day dawned hazy and hot and Castiel went through his usual chores with the feeling of a lump of stone settled in his stomach. He couldn’t shake the dream. The feeling of it surrounded him. It had been sensual, and he admitted that he’d been feeling touch starved. But it was more than that. He’d felt at peace in the dream, and more at home and settled than he could remember. That in itself was unsettling. Castiel had been so certain that he’d found contentment on the Berger’s farm, but the dream had left him with a craving, a longing that clung to him. 

In the middle of the afternoon, he stood in the gravel turnaround fronting the Berger’s home and signed for a delivery of frozen peas and chicken cuts. “Nice day for a drive,” he said conversationally as the driver began to unload the two boxes the Bergers had ordered. It was sunny and the sky was a glorious, cloudless blue. 

The driver, a young man who couldn’t be older than his mid-twenties, laughed. “It’s always a nice day for driving. You could say it’s my passion.”

“Oh?” Castiel said, stowing the clipboard and pen in the front seat of the truck.

”Well, I grew up in a car. My dad did a lot of odd jobs so it was just me and my brother--”

The ground spun beneath Castiel’s feet.

For a moment, everything went black. 

When he recovered himself, it was to find himself firmly seated in the rough gravel in the shadow of the truck, with the driver helping him to position his head between his knees. “Are you alright?” the driver asked anxiously and Castiel gulped against the bitter bile ascending his throat and nodded. 

“Fine. I’m fine.” He pressed a hand to his suddenly aching head and massaged it. “Sorry, I-- Perhaps I’m falling ill.” 

“Here, I’ll help you bring this stuff in.” Dimly, Castiel was aware of the driver hauling the two boxes into the Bergers’ home. While he did so, Castiel took deep breaths. He kept his eyes on the gravel as he inhaled the dusty-hot scent of the ground and found that the focus steadied him. By the time the driver returned, followed by Georgette Berger, he was able to stand, albeit shakily. 

“Castiel!” she called. “Are you alright? Mon dieu, let’s get you inside to lie down!” She slipped her frail shoulder under his arm and tried to tug at his hand so he might lean on her. 

Castiel shook his head and while he let her continue the embrace, the longer he stood the better he felt. “No, please. I’m alright. Perhaps...perhaps I’ll lie down for a bit. I can make my way home, though.”

She tutted at him and insisted on walking him home, guiding him up the step of the modest patio and into the little cottage. “You must let me make you soup. Tea?”

“Oh no. Please, that’s alright,” Castiel protested. “I’ll be fine after a little rest, Georgette.” His head still pounded uncomfortably and he found he was desperate to lie down in quiet meditation. “Perhaps check in a bit later? I’ll lie down for a nap, I promise.”

Georgette left him at last under protest, and Castiel dragged a bag of frozen berries from his freezer to crush into smaller pieces, then lay across his aching forehead. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on how his body felt. Other than the headache, he felt perfectly healthy. Perhaps he was ill? He had woken from that dream feeling sick and strange. 

Unbidden, the memory of the dream returned. The churning warmth, the sense of belonging. Lips, skin, hands. Castiel screwed his eyes shut and chased the memory of it, finding that the distraction of recalling it seemed to dissipate his headache. 

The face of the man in his dream surfaced. He was green eyed and freckled, with sandy brown, sex-mussed hair and a grin that lit the room. He was beautiful, too beautiful to be real. Castiel sighed against the surge of longing and shuffled the bag of fruit against his head. _Perhaps I’ve been alone too long,_ he thought, _if a dream can rattle me this much._

When the fruit had melted into a squashy mess inside of its bag, Castiel placed it back in the freezer, and went outside. The pounding in his head had subsided and he settled on his front step and let the breeze comb through his hair soothingly, chin upturned towards the sky. After a while, when he felt like he must have stabilized, he reached into his pocket for his smaller folding knife and fished a piece of soft wood from the old coal bin by the stoop. 

Pierre had introduced him to carving and Castiel had found he’d a knack for it, showing great facility with handling a knife. He let his mind drift away from the strangeness of the day and lost himself in the small sculpture forming in his hands. He carved the long straight nose, the sharp cheekbones and wry smile from his dream and in doing so, felt released from it. 

Castiel was so lost in his work that he jumped a little, knife sheering too much from the figure’s shoulder, when Gerard called out to him. He looked up to find Gerard silhouetted against the rose-hued evening sky. He carried a bag in his hands and held it up, swinging it as he approached. “I brought soup!” he called. “My mother’s recipe and a guaranteed cure-all.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said when Gerard was feet away. He rose to his feet, brushing aside Gerard’s solicitous hand. He peered in the bag and saw a large round thermos and a hunk of bread wrapped in a paper towel. “You didn’t need to do this.”

Gerard laughed. “Georgette called me. Said you were ill.” He smiled a little and Castiel squinted at him, uncertain if the flush on his cheeks was a trick of the light or signified something more. “I thought I might help.”

“I do appreciate that. Would you...like to stay for dinner?”

Gerard’s face fell. “I can’t. Tending the bar tonight. But...what about tomorrow?” He gulped and Castiel realized, astonished, that the other man was nervous. “Would you care to have dinner with me?”

Castiel gaped at him for a moment. He wasn’t surprised, not really. Not after all the light touches and lingering looks. Still, he hesitated until Gerard began to awkwardly wish Castiel goodnight. Then he said, “Of course. Of course, I’d love to have dinner with you. Here?”

Gerard broke out in a massive smile. “That sounds perfect. Seven?”

Castiel shook his head. “I’m afraid I’ve taken the afternoon off so I may be later tomorrow. Let’s say eight to be safe.”

“Eight it is.” Gerard’s hand swung uncomfortably at his side before he reached up and gently squeezed Castiel’s shoulder. “I’ll see you then. Have a good evening.” 

Castiel stood on the patio and watched Gerard walk down the narrow lane towards his truck. He clutched the sculpture in his hand and wondered about the root of the turmoil that seemed to bloom again in his gut. _A date, then._ It was what he needed - to belong, to be wanted. So why did he feel so strange? 

* * *

A stuntwoman balanced on the balcony rail of the convention center, ankles flexing as she tested the drag of the wires supporting her fall. They’d been on the remote set all morning, filming the dramatic attempted murder of a previously minor nurse character. 

Analie, the actress who played the nurse, stood beside Dean with her gaze intent on the stuntwoman above. She worried at her nail with her teeth, then ripped her hand away with a disgusted growl, only to do it all over again minutes later. 

“Nervous?” Dean asked. “You shouldn’t be. You’ll do great.”

Analie grimaced at him. “You wait your whole career to break into a show like Dr. Sexy,” she confided. “And when it happens you think you’re ready for the next step.” She sighed. “What if I screw this up?”

“You won’t,” Dean told her. “You’re awesome. They wouldn’t be doing more with your character if you weren’t.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I just wish I believed you.” She dug her hands into her pockets. “Hey, distract me.” She grinned at him. “I hear you’re getting set up with Zora.”

“Is anything private with you folks?” Dean asked in long-suffering tones. 

Analie shrugged. “Paolo’s determined. What can I say?” They watched the stuntwoman perform a graceful flip, arms and legs folding carefully to land on the mat below. “You gonna ask her?”

Dean shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it,” he lied. Curious after his conversation at the party, he’d looked her up the next day on Facebook. She was beautiful and by all accounts, everything in Dean’s short list for a perfect partner. He should ask her out, he knew, but still he hesitated. 

“You should,” she said. “She’s nice and...you know. Life goes by fast. You gotta take those chances when you can.”

Dean frowned. “Yeah. Maybe.” Together they watched the filming of the stunt until lunch break was called. Then Dean went outside with a sandwich and soda in hand. He leaned against the railing of the long riverfront deck and squinted up at the massive blue sculpture fronting the water. It seemed to stretch up into the sky like a road vanishing to a speck. 

Dean finished his sandwich, then pulled out his phone. He’d spent a year hoping to recover his lost memories. A year gone while he chased after vague leads from his past, pursuing paperwork that led to nowhere and nothing. If he was a blank canvas, surely it was time to start painting something new. 

“Nut up, Smith,” he muttered, scrolling to the end of his contacts list and staring at the screen. After another moment of hesitation, he dialed Zora’s number and asked her out. 

* * *

The bottle of wine was nearly gone when Gerard picked it up and tipped it in Castiel’s direction with upraised brows. 

Castiel laughed, already pleasantly warm. “I’m good, but thank you.” He watched as Gerard poured the remains of the bottle into his own glass and took a sip. They were sitting at Castiel’s butcher block table, the remains of their meal between them. Gerard’s boot bumped Castiel’s toe and Castiel left his own foot in place and smiled across their plates. He supposed the date was going well. Conversation rolled easily between them, and Gerard had brought a boxed meal from the inn in town, so dinner had been both filling and delicious. 

Gerard rested his chin on his hand and smiled fondly. “Did you know,” he said with a playful twinkle in his eye, “that much of the village thought you were a spy?”

“A spy?” Castiel laughed. “For whom?”

“Who can say?” Gerard shrugged. “We all had our theories.”

“We?”

“Well, I was intrigued, anyway.” Gerard took another sip of his wine. “I think it was Marie who first suggested it. Only weeks after you started with the Bergers, she overheard you muttering in English while you were buying your groceries.”

“Is that all? Two languages make me a spy?” Castiel shook his head. 

“That, and Pierre heard you talk in your sleep when you were staying on their couch - before you all cleaned out this cottage? He said it wasn’t any language he’d heard before.”

“He never said a word to me,” Castiel said, curious now about just what he’d said in his sleep. “I wonder if I still do that? Talk in my sleep?”

“I’ll be sure to let you know.” Gerard winked at him.

Castiel fingered the rim of his tumbler of wine and looked consideringly at Gerard. That, surely, was an innuendo. He probed it, as he might a cracked tooth. _What is he to me? What could he be to me?_ In some ways, he felt like a scientist embarking on an experiment. He might feel little more than curiosity now, but in time perhaps he would forge an emotional connection? He liked the idea of sex. He’d dreamed about it, and was fairly certain that he wasn’t a virgin. But this wasn’t just about sex. 

Gerard was a sweet man. Kind and considerate, he’d never given Castiel any reason to reject his advances. Yet he sensed that this was no casual fling to Gerard. Castiel took a deep breath. “What are you looking for in a relationship?” he asked. 

Gerard’s brow furrowed. He looked surprised at the question. “I suppose...a companion. Someone to share my life with. Love.” He set his glass on the table and pushed it away a couple of inches, examining Castiel with a suddenly serious expression. “What about you?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel confessed. “You are...very nice.” Gerard leaned away from the table, his eyes shuttering and mouth thinning. “But…”

Gerard nodded, a little too fast to be casual agreement. “I see,” he said. “And I’m sorry for it.” He smiled sadly and thick minutes of silence passed before he said, “This was a lovely dinner, Castiel. But I think I should go.”

“I-- Yes, of course.” Castiel scooted back from the table and hovered nervously at Gerard’s side as he fetched his light jacket from the hook by the door. “I’m sorry,” he said at last, as Gerard pushed open the door. 

Gerard tipped his chin down, then looked up again to meet Castiel’s eye. He gently placed his palm on Castiel’s shoulder and tightened his grip briefly before letting go. “It’s alright,” he said. “I wish you only the best. And--” he grimaced. “Well. Goodbye, Castiel.”

“Goodbye,” Castiel said, palm lifted in farewell. He leaned against the doorframe, watching Gerard walk down the gravel drive, and wondered when he would finally understand himself. 

That night he dreamed of the man again. He stood with his back to a cool railing and stared at the water. The wind combed his hair into careful tufts and his eyes seemed distant. Sadly searching, just like Castiel. He stared at a blue sculpture rising from the deck up, up into the sky. Castiel joined him at the railing and the silence and peaceful stillness of the dream consumed him until morning. 

* * *

The operating theater was a frozen tableau of frenetic energy captured in a single moment. In the center of the room, the patient lay still, an obelisk in the center of the theater. Around her, poised and ready, stood the doctors and nurses. Scalpels glinted in delicate hands. 

Dean stood in the corner, arms folded as he waited to be needed. 

“Action!” The room sprang into being. 

“How are her vitals, nurse?” Doctor Sexy barked. 

“Not good. BP’s falling. Heart rate is… Doctor!”

They shot the chaos of the patient’s sudden death from another angle and Dean grimaced. It never got easier to watch. The intensity of it always swamped him far more on set than on watching it at home on TV. 

Blood splashed onto Doctor Sexy’s cowboy boots, magenta liquid settling into the grooves carved into the leather. He flung his hand out and the scalpel flew across the room and struck the wall a foot away from Analie’s character Sienna, who watched it clatter to the floor, eyes wide.

“Keep rolling, keep rolling,” the director hissed. “Use it.”

Sienna ran across the room and grabbed the doctor’s gloved hand. Blood glistened on his fingertips and she stared at their joined hands. Hers was shaking from adrenaline, or skill. “Stop,” she ordered.

“She’s dead.” His eyes lifted to the ceiling in anguish, as though tracing the departure of her soul from the room. “Oh God. She’s dead. We couldn’t save her.”

“No, you can’t save everyone.”

A chill stole up Dean’s arms, hairs prickling inside his shirtsleeves. 

“I remember walking through the park. Every Sunday. I remember sailing together on those…” Doctor Sexy clenched his fist. “Goddamn glorious Caribbean blue waters. And now she’s— Now she’s—”

“Hey,” Sienna said, stripping off her gloves and caressing his cheek. The rest of the operating theater receded until it was just the two of them standing in a pool of light. “You’ll have those memories still. Hell,” she smiled sorrowfully, a grim twitch of the mouth. “You’ll never stop remembering her. But here’s the thing about memory.” And Sienna shook Doctor Sexy gently. “It’ll always take you back, but it won’t ever move you forward.”

A single tear rolled down the doctor’s chiseled face. “What will then? Forgetting? How could I—?”

“No! No,” she said. “It’s dreams that move us forward in life. Dreams that give us the will. The vitality to push forward. Use those memories when you want to travel back but…find a dream to help you move onward.”

“She always wanted—”

Doctor Sexy’s lines faded out around Dean. 

_Dreams move you forward._ He felt weightless, breathless. He was on the precipice of a great, high cliff, looking out over the world below. There was something right in front of him. Something he couldn’t quite see. 

And then the director yelled, “Cut!” and Dean jumped backwards, knocking over a cooled cup of coffee with his heel. In the flurry to clean it up, the moment faded. 

* * *

Castiel woke up early, with longing aching in his bones. He turned over wearily in bed and peered up at the window. Weak light straggled through the curtains. Slowly, he sat up, rotated his head until his neck popped, and then got up at last. He felt strange and unsettled, like an explorer who had just departed from a route on a map into unmarked territory. 

He knelt on the bed and pushed aside the curtains to look outside at the gray, lovely morning. Work wouldn’t begin until the sun made it past the horizon. Absently, he scratched his fingers through his hair and went outside to whittle and think.

It was there that the Bergers found him just a half hour later. They strolled up the lane hand in hand. Castiel lifted a hand in welcome when they were still too far away to call out to, and watched them approach with fondness. _It didn’t work out with Gerard_ , he consoled himself, _but I still have a home here._

When the Bergers were close enough, Georgette called out to him. “Castiel! And how are you doing today? Feeling better?”

“I’m very well,” he said, pleased that it was true. While he’d suffered from terrible headaches recently, this morning he’d woken with little more than vague unease, which was easily attributable to the prior night’s less-than-stellar date. “And you?”

“As well as can be expected,” Pierre said. He held tightly onto Georgette’s hand as she lowered herself to the stoop beside Castiel, and then joined the two of them in sitting. “Fine morning.”

“It is.”

Georgette peered closely at his sculpture. “Oh, Castiel, that is simply lovely. You’ve come so far.”

Castiel grinned and ran his thumb along the side of the sculpture. “Thank you. You were right,” he said to Pierre. “Carving is very relaxing.”

Pierre grunted and reached out his palm for the sculpture, then held it at elbow length to examine it. “Good work here. Nice lines. You’ve a great skill with a knife.” He turned it around, examining the bust. “I’ve seen this before.”

“Yes, I-- I carved him once before.”

“Very beautiful,” Georgette said. After a long pause she asked, “how did your date with Gerard go, my dear?” Castiel felt himself flush and shrugged one shoulder, searching for what to say when she patted him on the sleeve. “Oh, well, no need to say.” She leaned forward and said in a loud whisper, “I saw him, you know. Walking down yesterday evening? Didn’t look too happy. But that’s alright. We love our dear Gerard and we love you as well, my boy.”

“Thank you, Georgette,” Castiel said quietly. “That means more to me than you know.” He sighed. “He is a good man.”

“He is.”

“But it didn’t-- I didn’t--”

“Ah well. The heart wants what the heart wants. That’s what they say.”

“Is that someone you remember?” Pierre asked. He was staring off into the sunrise-pink wheat field, eyes creased and seemingly unaffected. But Castiel could hear the earnest interest in his question. 

“I don’t know,” Castiel confessed. “I’ve been dreaming about him. Everything about him seems...so real. But if he is someone I’ve known, I haven’t a clue.”

“You’ve dreamed about him, you say?” Georgette seemed to perk up. “Doesn’t it seem possible that your memory might return in a dream? Did he have a name?”

Castiel shook his head. “No name. We didn’t, ah, speak. But he did feel familiar to me. Like…” A laugh slipped out. “He felt like home, a little bit.”

Georgette gathered Castiel’s hands in her frail, wrinkled palms and held them close, commanding his attention. “My dear, if there’s something in these dreams you can use to learn about who you were?” Her eyes seemed to light up with excitement. 

Despite himself, Castiel felt a spark of wild excitement and hope kindle in his gut. “I…I don’t know.” He closed his eyes and chased the dream. There was little to go on, except for today’s early morning dream with the blue statute stretching up into the sky. That seemed distinctive enough that if it existed in the world, he might be able to locate it. “There may be something. But this seems far fetched, don’t you think?” His heart thudded in his chest.

“If this is someone you knew and cared about, you owe it to yourself,” Georgette told him earnestly. 

Pierre cleared his throat. “It hasn’t always been an easy life. You know we’ve had our good years and bad. But with my love by my side I’ve been content. You’re a good man, Castiel, and we want to see you happy. Whole. If you remember something, you should pursue it.”

Castiel looked at the Bergers thoughtfully, then out at the wheat field. “I suppose,” he said slowly, “that it wouldn’t hurt to look into it. Just to see if it matches up with anything in the real world.”

“You should do it,” Georgette said. She released Castiel’s hands and clapped her own like a small child. 

“After the day’s work,” Pierre corrected, with a chuckle. 

“Okay.” Castiel nodded. “Okay, I will. After today’s work.”

The day sped quickly and Castiel drove out to town under a deep blue twilight sky. In the cafe, he signed onto one of the ancient bulky plastic computers in the back, and found the place in his dream before his coffee had a chance to cool. “Vancouver,” he whispered, staring at the picture that came up when he searched for blue sculptures along the waterfront. “He was in Vancouver, Canada.” He mapped it, tracing the line that stretched from his home to Canada. Harvest would happen soon and after that-- After that, perhaps he would go to Canada. And as the wheat ripened, there would be dreams to fill in the details. Castiel felt it, as sure as faith.


	8. Chapter 8

**Six weeks later**

**Monday**

It was the kind of quiet August rain that spat more than spattered. It fogged up the windows of Dean’s bus. He leaned against the glass, letting the cool moisture condensing on the window sooth his forehead. He’d been sleeping poorly again and his body ached from exhaustion. His dreams had been full of flight and falls to jolt him awake. Sometimes, inexplicably, he would dream of a quiet wheat field, golden in the sun, and the steady gaze of a man he could never quite see. Those should have been peaceful, but they were always the worst. Dean woke from those suffocated by a deep sorrow pressing on his chest with the weight of a demon, and sleep after them was always elusive. 

Today would be another long day on set. They were filming up in the mountains under canopies of pine boughs. The forested mountains were beautiful, but also full of the constant unpredictable irritations of nature.

While long, outdoor shoots were often wonderful, today promised its own challenges. It had been raining for the past week and their day would be guaranteed to be full of mud and runs for dry clothing and hot drinks. Dean would be on his feet constantly, except for when his feet slid out from under him on the muddied dirt roads. 

_I need more weekend_ , Dean thought to himself and closed his eyes. _And coffee._ Outside of the fogged-up bus a man with dark hair and striking blue eyes stood on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, surveying the city with a look of radiant hope. By the time Dean opened his eyes, the man was far behind him.

**Tuesday**

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the dessert display at the small coffee shop. There were six well-stocked, large trays set out behind the glass, each with handwritten labels done up in neat, spiky writing. “What is a...nanaimo bar?” Castiel asked, trying the word out on his tongue.

“Heaven in your mouth, hon,” the barista replied with a wink. 

“It’s sweet?”

The barista laughed. “Oh, yeah.”

“Good. I’ll take one. And a small coffee to go, please.” Castiel might be traveling to chase after ghosts and visions, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t spend some of his long-amassed earnings on a treat here and there. The hotel’s continental breakfast had been passable in terms of sustenance delivered, but it left a great deal wanting in taste. A rich dessert bar would be the perfect accompaniment to the day’s excursions of museums and waterfront walks, interspersed with aimless wandering as he tried to pinpoint the tug in his gut that pulled at him and yelled, _seek him, find him._

Castiel pushed his way out the door a minute later, clutching his black coffee and breakfast. The door whooshed shut behind him as, unseen by him, another man emerged from the bathroom in the back of the coffee shop.

Dean stretched as he approached the counter. “I swear, the only time I get to piss is when I’m making coffee runs. How’s my order coming?”

“Almost done,” the barista replied. “Too bad you weren’t out here earlier, hon. One hot son of a bitch and an accent on top of it.” She closed her eyes. “God, I love a guy with an accent.”

Dean laughed and leaned against the counter. “Me too,” he said with feeling.

**Wednesday**

Castiel had arrived in Vancouver feeling outrageously optimistic that he would find the mysterious man from his dreams and, when he did, his memories would rush back like water through a broken dam. Instead, he was beginning to feel a little perturbed. The first place he had gone was to the convention center to see the blue droplet sculpture. He’d stood there for quite some time, hoping it was a place the man had frequented or, barring that, perhaps something else there would trigger his lost memories. When that had failed, he’d boarded buses, hoping to see the plain gray apartment building he’d seen through a window in his dreams. Today he was continuing his quest to tour studio sets. In one dream he’d been standing in a bedroom, staring into bright lights and the square eye of a camera. While others on the tours had strained to see movie stars or glimpses into sets, Castiel had scoured the faces passing by the tour trams for _him_. 

It felt a little bit like madness, pursuing something so nebulous and with such paltry results. In between tours, Castiel bought a bag of sunflower seeds from a nearby store and settled onto a park bench in the sunlight. He tossed scatterings of seeds while the odd mix of birds that seemed to inhabit Vancouver swarmed merrily at his feet. 

Castiel grinned at the sight, enjoying the sunshine. “Perhaps this has been a fool’s errand,” he told them. “Perhaps I’m not meant to find anything here at all, other than rest.” He tipped seeds into his palm and scattered the last of the bag on the ground. “I have enjoyed traveling. You know, Pierre always said some people are meant to stay in one place. I think he was trying to convince me to stay. But I don’t know… Maybe I’m meant to wander, to see new places and meet new people. I’ll tell you, I’ve felt more content on the move than I ever have at the farm, or back in Meaux.” He crumpled up the stiff plastic bag and stuffed it into his pocket, then Castiel leaned back on the bench and closed his eyes. The midday sun warmed his face. 

* * *

Dean tripped over his own feet, barely managing to catch himself. He swore and peeked into the takeout bags he had hooked in his fingers like a redolent upside-down bouquet. He hadn’t spilled anything. Good.

A man sat on a nearby park bench, his face upturned and beatific in the sharp noontime light. Dean swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth and then after a moment, picked up his pace again and continued on his way. There were hungry people back at the studio, after all, and the restaurant had been late with his order. 

As he hurried away, Dean’s heart thudded in his chest as though he’d just sprinted to the finish of a long, grueling race. 

* * *

 _Wednesday,_ Castiel thought. Wednesday and another day gone without any breakthroughs of any sort. He was flying out of Vancouver on Sunday to go back home to France and it pained him to think that he’d spent nearly all of his saved wages on a wild goose chase. _Perhaps it is better_ , he decided as he sipped at his drink, _to truly put down roots._ He’d botched things with Gerard but surely that wasn’t his last chance to find someone to share his life. When the Bergers finally retired from their farm, perhaps he’d even travel the world from time to time. He’d always wanted to go to Australia. 

He fished a pretzel from the bowl on the counter and chewed it aggressively. Tonight he wouldn’t look at all. He’d finish his drink, walk back to his hotel, and think about how he wanted to spend his last few days in Canada. 

_Of course_ , he thought later, it would be when he was on the brink of giving up that he saw him. 

A large group pushed its way into the bar as Castiel finished his last sip of beer and laid a tip on the countertop. They were raucous, in the way only a tight knit group can be, with arms slung around each other and voices high. Castiel turned to look at them, drawn to the tumult, and then froze. It was him. He was tall, with sandy-brown hair swept playfully upward and a gorgeous smile that lit up the room. 

It was him, and he was a magnet, drawing Castiel’s gaze. He lost awareness of his surroundings for a moment, utterly captivated by the other man. “He’s real,” he breathed, then wetted his lips nervously. “I should go talk to him.” 

Castiel pushed himself up from the barstool and just as quickly, stumbled back against the counter. A woman had split off from the group, long dark hair and dancing eyes. She pulled at the man’s hand, pulling him towards a cleared space between the tables. They began to dance and her smile was bright and so was his and…

Castiel couldn’t watch more. He swallowed hard and left the bar, keeping to the shadows on the edge of the room until he was out of the front door. “So if we were something once,” he said as he walked away, “he’s moved on now. I’m sure he wouldn’t remember me.” It should have been a dry fact, but instead it tore him up inside. He walked to a bus stop bench and sank onto the cold metal seat, hands shaking and head aching. Clearly, the man was real and not just a dream. But his memories contributed nothing but uncertainty. There could be no answer here, could there?

He stayed at the bus stop for over an hour as buses approached and receded, before finally working up the courage to return to the bar. He deserved answers about his past, even if they weren’t what he might have wanted. But by then, the group had left.

**Thursday**

The takeout place was a favorite of the crew, a sumptuous place redolent with glorious smells of thickly stewed sauce and delicately fried foods. Dean waited for his order impatiently. He was standing with his back pressed against the wall allowing a crush of people to go past, when he saw him.

Blue eyes. Dark hair. Killer smile. _That’s him_ , Dean thought nonsensically, almost certain that this was the same man he’d seen in the park. He swayed and realized he’d pushed away from the wall at the sight of him, as though a magnetic force tugged between them. 

The mysterious man looked up from where he stood at the counter, paying his bill. He craned his neck around, a mildly puzzled expression on his face. Deep circles undercut his eyes. Dean wanted to approach him, pull him aside. Cradle that weary face in his palms. 

“Dean Smith?” The server’s voice cut into his reverie and Dean jumped. A woman holding three large bags of takeout stood by the host stand, surveying the crowded waiting area. 

Dean lifted his hand in acknowledgement and then made a grab for the takeout. His face burned with embarrassment and he quickly left the restaurant, feeling the stranger’s eyes on his back. He was fleeing, he knew. Fleeing the strange, wrenching idea that he was somehow meant to know that stranger. He didn’t need that kind of insanity in his life right now. 

Dean walked briskly back towards the shooting set, located about ten blocks away in a quiet little side street. He was just around the corner from the set when there was a wet tearing sound. With several loud thunks and splats, the containers from one of the bags fell to the ground. Stir fried vegetables spilled across the sidewalk. Dean cursed and hastily set the other two bags down. 

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, examining the broken bag. One of the containers had leaked, apparently, and made quick work of it too. There was a large, wet hole in the bottom of the bag. Fortunately, the damage seemed to be fairly minimal. Only two containers had spilled. The rest had landed in an awkward pile on top of the spilled food. Dean grabbed a handful of napkins from one of the bags and did his best to wipe them off, making a face a the spilled takeout. 

“Bonjour, sir. Do you need some help?”

The voice was low, gravelly, and rolled like a shockwave down Dean’s spine. He jerked upright and stared around. Blue eyes looked down at him in concern. 

It was the man from the restaurant. The man from the park. “Um. Sure?”

The other man knelt down and leaned forward, picking up a lid and scraping the fallen food onto it before depositing it into a nearby trash can. Dean stared after him for a moment before remembering himself. He ducked his head to carefully stack the intact takeout containers into a precarious tower on the ground, transferring what he could to his two remaining bags. 

“Thanks,” Dean said, still feeling incredibly awkward. “I appreciate it, man.” He picked up the stack of containers, pinning it between his arm and chin, then bent to pick up the bags.

“Would you like help?” the man asked. “I don’t have anywhere else I need to be.” His words were casual but he stared at Dean with an intensity unmatched by anyone in Dean’s rather limited recollection. If Dean hadn’t been doing his own share of staring, he would have called it creepy. As it was, he had to remind himself to open his mouth an answer. 

“Yeah. Yeah that’d be great.”

The other man reached for the stack of takeout, shifting them easily into his arms. Dean picked up the other two bulging bags and jerked his chin towards the intersection in front of them. “I’m just up there. So, it’s not far.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, thanks for your help.”

“My pleasure.” The way he said _pleasure_ sent sparks down Dean’s spine. “So, what’s your name?” he asked as they began to walk towards the set. 

“Castiel.”

For a moment Dean’s breath left him, like he’d been punched in the gut. Fire bloomed beneath his temple. He rubbed vigorously at his temple. “Castiel?” he said finally when the worst of the pain had passed. “That’s, uh…that’s a nice name.”

Castiel smiled at him, a sunny, golden smile. “Nice to meet you, Dean.” He looked for a moment like he wanted to say more, but eventually looked away, holding the takeout containers close to his chest. 

Dean laughed. “When did I tell you my name?”

Castiel cleared his throat and looked out over the dark park they were passing. “I overheard it. At the restaurant.”

“Wow. Good memory.”

Castiel turned to look directly at him, eyes dark and mysterious in the shadow of the buildings. “You’re very memorable,” he said.

Dean found that he could not come up with anything to say about that. “You ever seen a film set?” Dean asked instead, as they rounded the corner.

They were filming at a bar that evening and the blocked off street was a tangle of wires and people. Cameras were set up in front of the bar for the exterior shots. Doctor Sexy and his longtime friend Antonio were meeting at the bar to discuss Doctor Sexy’s burgeoning relationship with his head nurse. The actors could be glimpsed through the crowd of people and several excited fans were gathered at one of the barricades. 

“I’ve been on the studio tours. But no, not really.” Castiel admitted. His eyes were wide, taking everything in and he looked as excited as a child. “But I do enjoy television.”

“You’re in luck. VIP access.” Dean waved to one of the security guards.

Castiel paused, a smile spreading across his face. He looked at Dean. “Really?”

“Really.” He led Castiel onto the set, grinning as they wound their way through the parked trucks to the canteen set up on the opposite side of the street. They dropped off the bags of food. Then Dean led Castiel to a little alcove in front of a storefront where someone had flipped over a utility bucket. “Here,” Dean said. “You can watch from here, if you want” Castiel nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve gotta work but I’ll check back.”

“Alright.” Castiel smiled again and the look of exhaustion hanging off of him at the restaurant seemed to lift. “Thank you. I’ll just be right here?”

“I’ll check back,” Dean promised again, and hurried away. His bones buzzed with adrenaline and something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. He thought he could feel Castiel behind him, like a static field. 

As the evening wore on, Dean returned to Castiel’s doorway with food, hot drinks, or curious friends who’d cornered him about the new guy on set. To his joy and relief, Castiel was there each and every time. When the end of the shoot arrived, Dean escorted Castiel from the set and went back to work with a satisfied smile. He had Castiel’s cell number saved in his phone and Dean had the next few days off. He planned to make the most of it.

**Friday**

Castiel woke with a grin and stretched in the sheets. Soft gray light colored the walls around the edges of the thick hotel curtain. It must be before sunrise but Castiel’s heart beat like he had been running through the fields all day. _Dean Smith_ , he thought and couldn’t formulate anything beyond those two perfect words. 

He’d come to Vancouver to seek a reason behind the longing and desperate dreams and now that he’d met Dean, he felt reasonably certain that he’d found the answer. As soon as he had seen him, he’d felt an instant affinity for the man that extended far beyond finally having a real person to match his dreams. There was something there. Castiel’s murky past and possibly his future were locked up in Dean Smith. It made no sense, but the best things seldom did. 

The night before, Dean had been quick to assure Castiel that he was single. He’d gone on a few dates recently, but they hadn’t worked out - and a good thing that was, too. He’d dropped that fact with a wink while Castiel blew on a paper cup of coffee Dean had brought over. 

Castiel had almost spilled the drink as bone-deep relief washed over him. Dean looked at him with such an intoxicating intensity. Surely their relationship must have been a profound one. 

They’d texted afterwards, in bursts clearly outlined by free minutes Dean could grab as he wrapped up the evening’s work. Dean, to his astonishment, seemed just as enthusiastic about him. Castiel lay in bed, heart thumping, and wondered if Dean recognized him from his former life. 

Castiel checked the time on his phone. Two hours until breakfast and the wait already seemed interminable. He hadn’t asked last night if Dean knew him. It seemed too odd of a question to spring on Dean during the rush of his job. But now curiosity burned within him. 

Their plans were set for the day: breakfast, followed by an early studio tour, then lunch at a brewpub. Castiel rolled out of bed and stretched his arms over his head. It was far too early to get ready, but he couldn’t help himself. It felt like it might become the most important day of his life - that he could recall, anyway. Castiel showered and dressed, then spent the next few hours nervously clicking through channels on the television. 

Dean met him in the hotel lobby promptly at eight. When Castiel saw him, he momentarily forgot how to breathe. Dean stood next to the overstuffed floral couches in a snug t-shirt and close-fitting blue jeans. He looked nervous, fidgeting with the hem of one of his pockets. His other hand tapped his phone against his chest in a steady, quick rhythm. When he noticed Castiel, his face lit up in a bright smile. 

“Hey,” Dean said.

“Bonjour, Dean,” Castiel replied and was rewarded with pinkening cheeks. 

Dean shoved his phone into his pocket. “You are gonna love this place. Awesome waffles,” he said. “Well...shall we?” He jerked his chin towards the door.

“Of course.” Castiel followed him outside into the bright morning sunshine.

* * *

“You know,” Castiel said as he leaned over his waffles, “I wrote to my friend Marie about you. She’s owns the cafe where I live.” He speared a slice of dripping waffle and peach and bit into it, rolling his eyes in delight at the flavor.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “All good things?”

“She was very concerned when I told her I’d met someone who worked in television. She warned me about predatory men, you see. The kind who might tell me they were a TV producer and seduce me with promises.” He waved his fork as though it were a flag of surrender. “And her direst warnings were coming true.”

Dean laughed. “I seduced you with promises?”

“Of back stage access,” Castiel said solemnly. 

“That’s what kids are calling it these days.”

Castiel smirked at him and took a sip of his coffee so he could watch Dean from behind his cup. Dean looked amused and slightly discomfited and Castiel wondered if he regularly brought visitors to their sets, or if yesterday was new for him. 

Yesterday had been an inopportune time to bring it up but today, with food consumed and the day ahead of them, Castiel decided that he needed to take a deep breath and ask the question. He set down his fork and leaned away from the table a little, steepling his fingers as he searched for the right words. Finally, he said, “This is going to sound strange. Please, just listen first? Let me get through this.”

Dean looked at him curiously but simply nodded at him to go ahead and speak. 

“Have we—?” Castiel shook his head. “Even saying it seems preposterous. But have we ever met before, you and I? You seem so familiar to me, as though I have known you for years.” Dean’s face seemed to crumple at the question and Castiel hurried on. “You see... You see I have a bit of an unusual story.”

“Can’t get any weirder than mine,” Dean interrupted. He held up his hand quellingly and then sighed. “Look, this is pretty intense first date stuff, but you should know I can’t remember anything past about a year ago. It’s just a, uh, blank slate.”

Castiel slowly settled back in his chair. Dean looked back at him, every inch of him perfectly sincere. At last Castiel said, “That should be my line. You’ll think I’m making this up. I can’t recall anything from prior to the past year, either. Truly…nothing.”

They watched each other with, Castiel thought, matching disbelief. Dean cracked an awkward smile. “Feel like I should be on camera.” He looked around the restaurant and when nothing odd revealed itself, turned back to Castiel. “You’re not trying to… Nobody put you up to this?”

“No,” Castiel said. He could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears and the steady, panicked throb of it seemed to drown out the rest of the restaurant.

Dean leaned forward suddenly so closely that his shirt brushed the edge of his plate. “I don’t believe in fate,” he said quietly and intensely. “I don’t believe in destiny. Or soulmates. Those are all just lines people make up to try to explain happiness or excuse disappointments.” Castiel opened his mouth, searching for a reply to that swift confession when Dean continued, “But there’s something I feel when I look at you, man. Like I’ve seen you before.”

Castiel nodded. “I feel it too. I feel it and I… Dean, I don’t have any explanation for it. Please..” His voice cracked a little and he paused to clear his throat self-consciously. “Please, can we just--?”

Dean sighed and pushed the edge of his plate away. “Lost my appetite,” he said when Castiel stared at the half-eaten plate of eggs and bacon. He gestured with his hand. “You should eat, though.”

Castiel shook his head. “I find I’m without an appetite as well.” He looked somewhat mournfully at his waffle, but realized it was true. The sick, dizzy feeling he’d battled for so long had returned. Castiel groaned and pushed his hand through his hair. “Headache,” he told Dean when he noticed Dean pointedly watching his fingers slide through his hair.

“Wanna get out of here?” Dean asked. 

“I… maybe?” _No_. If they left the restaurant did that signify the end of their date? The band constricting around Castiel’s chest grew tighter. 

Dean looked around the restaurant again and then said in a hushed tone, “I just wanna talk about all of this in private. This feels a little…much?” He offered a lopsided smile. “Maybe we can skip the studio tour? Head to the waterfront?”

Castiel’s breath let out in a rush. “Yes,” he said. “I would like that very much.”

They walked along the waterfront slowly, close enough that their elbows brushed and quiet words passed between them alone. 

Castiel explained to Dean about his life in France, and how he had woken up one morning by falling out of bed with next to nothing in his head. “I’d felt as though my head, my body were splitting apart,” he explained. “I went to the hospital. They did all sorts of scans on me. Tests. But I was to all appearances perfectly healthy. They could never explain my memory loss.”

“I didn’t think about it at first,” Dean told him. “The lack of memories. I knew I’d had an accident but everything was just...blank. My doctors wanted to write me up - the curious case of Dean Smith - and publish it. But in the end…”

“All you can do is keep living.” 

“Yeah.” Dean threaded his hand through Castiel’s crooked elbow, linking them closer together. “This is pretty weird,” he said with a surprising amount of placidity.

“An understatement,” Castiel supplied, and they both laughed. 

Sun hashed the water in bright, white streaks, glinting off the waves. The looping cries of seagulls filled the comfortable silence between them. 

Dean clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “So you’ve basically been a farmer for a year now. How’re you liking it?”

“I like it very well,” Castiel said. “It is a curiously wonderful thing to wake early and time your day with the rise and fall of the sun. Somehow it makes me feel like a more integral piece of this world. And you love your job?”

“Dream job,” Dean affirmed. “It’s busy but I love it. According to my boss, I’d talked about ‘wanting a change’ when I’d interviewed. Now, I got no way of knowing what I had before. My resume got lost in a data dump and I’ll be damned if I can find anything else from before. It used to bother me a lot.”

“I felt the same,” Castiel admitted. “Unfettered and yet hampered by the great weight of an unknown past.”

“It sucked,” Dean said with a playful lean.

“It sucked,” Castiel allowed, and reeled him in further, so that their thighs brushed as they strolled, and if they had been standing still, Castiel could rest his head on Dean’s shoulder. The sun was reaching its zenith and the multi-use path that ran along the water’s edge filled with people. Castiel tugged Dean towards a small, bright pink vending booth set a little way’s back from the walkway. 

They bought ice cream and ate it sitting on knobbly concrete benches, watching boats trundle along the coast. Castiel thought he could listen to Dean talk about the inane little pleasantries of life until the sun burned cold. 

The day passed as quick as an exhale. Much later, Castiel watched Dean eating his burger with gusto and felt like his body might disintegrate into a spreading cloud of butterflies. “So...ah...” Castiel cast his eyes upward, seeking help or solace from the distant stars. “I’m not at all ready for today to be over. Are you?”

Dean’s eyes lit up and a sly smile creased his cheek. “Castiel,” he said in a mock-whisper. “Are you propositioning me?”

Castiel couldn’t muster a reply. He simply licked his lips and let his gaze devour Dean. His own mouth quirked up in a smile and his expression opened hopefully as he said, “I absolutely am.”

* * *

Castiel rode the bus with Dean to his small apartment. There was a new tension between them - one he very much wanted to explore. He set aside the odd coincidences of their similar stories. That could be sorted out another time. Surely the next morning could be for talking while this most exquisite night could be reserved for simpler things. 

He took Dean’s hand in his, following him up the narrow steps of his apartment building. Dean’s palm was warm and his neck, above his collar, flushed rose with the heat that had built between them. 

As soon as Dean closed his door behind them, Castiel flew to him, pushing him back against the wall abutting the doorway. He pressed a fierce, hot kiss against Dean’s mouth and groaned at the simple, perfect sensations of warm lips and breath against his own. Dean brought his hands up and clutched Castiel’s hips, then moved one hand up his spine to palm the back of his head. 

Dean groaned as Castiel explored the curve of his mouth. Dean growled as he set to exploring the long lines of Castiel’s throat. 

They were both breathing heavily when they pulled apart. “Bedroom?” Dean asked as he ran the tip of his tongue along his lower lip. 

“Bedroom,” Castiel agreed and began to laugh as Dean whirled and pulled him eagerly down the hallway to his little bedroom. 

Dean paused at the the open doorway, his bed lit softly by the straggling lamplight from the living room. He glanced towards the bed and then squeezed Castiel’s hand. “You sure about this?”

Castiel nodded firmly. “As sure as I’ve been about anything.”

“Hell of a thing,” Dean said, around a widening grin.

“Hell of a thing,” Castiel agreed, and then he propelled Dean onto the mattress with gentle intent. Dean gathered him in with greedy lips and hands, and the evening became a dizzy blur of flushed, heated skin and longing finally satisfied.

**Sunday**

“I’m not ready for you to go.” 

Castiel sighed. They had been dancing around the issue of his departure all day, having delayed it for as long as possible with lazy sex and a hastily prepared brunch eaten in bed. But now they were sitting together on a quiet city bus on the way to the airport. “I’m not ready to go either,” he admitted.

“So stay.” Dean tugged him closer, arm wrapped around his waist. 

“Dean.”

“Stay. Just for a little while. Change your ticket.”

“Dean, I—” Castiel dropped his forehead to Dean’s shoulder. “I promised the Bergers that I would help mend the fence line before winter. But when I’m done with that?” He shifted his head so that his lips brushed along the forward edge of Dean’s arm, almost like a kiss. “I’d like to come back, if I may.”

Dean laughed a little wildly, relief evident as he said, “Always. Always, Cas.” They rode silently for a few minutes, wrapped up in each other, and their own shadowed thoughts. Then Dean said, “What if I come visit you first?”

Castiel’s heart lifted. “You told me yesterday that you hated to fly!”

Dean blew air out through his teeth. “True. But I’d do it for you. We’re coming up on a hiatus. I’ve got the time. And I— I just really want to visit you, Cas. You can show me the farm. Your cottage. We can eat and stay in bed for days.”

“I’d love that,” Castiel said as joy vibrated through him. “You won’t be disappointed. It’s beautiful there.”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ll probably find something interesting.”

“One can only hope.” Castiel grinned.

“Text me when you land?”

Castiel nodded. “Of course.”

They spent the rest of the ride to the airport in quiet conversation. At the airport, Dean insisted on seeing him through to the security line, pulling him aside and kissing him as though it might be their last. 

Castiel drew him in for tight, desperate embrace. When they separated, Castiel had to blink rapidly to banish the tears that threatened to tear their way out. He felt that pull again, that ache that settled deep in his temples and made him want to burrow into Dean’s arms and never leave. “I’ll see you soon,” he said quietly. 

“See ya, Cas,” Dean replied. With a wan smile and a wave, Castiel made his way into the security line. Dean waited while Castiel passed through the security gate. Then Castiel slung his bag over his shoulder, and lifted one hand to Dean. _I’ll see you again,_ he vowed, watching the affection on Dean’s face fade into something like bereavement. _As soon as possible._ With a smile more forced than felt, Castiel waved one last time and turned to disappear into the airport. 


	9. Chapter 9

One good thing about his job, Dean reflected the next morning, was that it kept him busy. A year ago, the frenetic pace of the show kept him from dwelling on the unsettling void in his memory. Now, it kept him from doing nothing but sitting around and waiting for Castiel to call him. 

With the time difference, they’d enjoyed limited texting immediately after Castiel had arrived back in France. But Castiel had warned him that the farm had very poor cellular reception, and no internet. It was a communication problem that Castiel was fully invested in changing as quickly as possible. Yet it meant that for the time being, they were cut off from one another until Castiel had a chance to head into town. 

Dean grinned to himself as he wound the van up the waterfront highway, on his way to pick up a prop from an old family farm in Squamish. It was the height of romantic idiocy to be so tied up in Castiel’s life in such a short time, yet here he was. Castiel had intimated heavily that as soon as he’d managed to find a better phone provider, Dean should prepare himself for rather vigorous sexting. As it was, he already had one shockingly inappropriate video saved to his phone - inappropriate because from anyone else it would have come across as far too much, too soon. 

A cloud passed fleetingly over the road, sending a quick, sharp shadow along the blacktop. When the shadow drifted again, Dean frowned and glanced upward through the windshield. There was nothing there, just blue sky and bright sunshine.

The shadow flitted overhead again, too quick to be a cloud and too large to be a bird. Dean slowed down and checked his mirrors as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. There was nothing around the van that could cast any kind of movable shadow and very few people on the road. The nearest cars were much further back and not visible as Dean rounded another curve in the road.

In his side mirrors, Dean watched as gloom slowly eclipsed the van. A long, large shadow traveled down the nose of the van and onto the pavement. While Dean expected it to move on as quickly as it had before, this time the shadow kept pace with the van. “What the hell?” Dean muttered, trying to crane his neck to look up and out of his window. But whatever cast the shadow was just out of view. He drove for another minute, alternately speeding and slowly down, but the shadow stayed consistently with him. 

Dean gripped the wheel tightly, fully alert and alarmed now. Suddenly the highway seemed too exposed and too restrictive, with long stretches of road that would trap him between water and mountain slope. There was a pull out ahead - a little loop of a side road that led to a few seaside luxury homes. He could get a good look at what was above him, and then maybe turn around and drive like hell back to Vancouver. Dean jerked the wheel, sending the van onto the small road. He parked, then opened the door cautiously. Visions of UFOs or secret U.S. military spy planes filled his head.

What he saw instead sent his brain scrambling for a logical explanation. Wheeling above the van high up in the sky was something vast and serpentine. 

It looked like a water snake undulating across the water, except there were wings - four of them - extending from its body. “What the--” Dean stumbled backwards, drawing his hand up to shade his eyes and blinking rapidly to clear them. It appeared to be a large dragon, like he’d seen in Game of Crowns, and Dean shook his head in disbelief. “This has gotta be a publicity stunt.” He looked around at the quiet woods, the vacant homes. “It’s a plane. Some kind of ultralight.” But it moved in the air like a gliding bird, circling his position. As Dean watched, it gracefully tilted its wings and, seeming to catch a good down draft, suddenly folded them and streaked at an alarming speed towards the ground. Towards Dean.

“Holy—” Dean climbed into the van and slammed the door behind him. With shaking fingers, he fumbled for the keys and shoved them into the ignition to start the car. Tires squealed and the van fishtailed on the loose gravel as Dean pulled onto the side road at top speed. 

“This is a dream!” he grunted as he drove past isolated beachside homes. “I’ve just gotta wake up. Wake up,” he growled to himself. 

Instead of revealing itself to be a dream, the massive dragon dove towards the blacktop, landing with a great billow of wings on the road in front of the van. Dean cursed and jammed his foot against the brake, grimly steering out of a spin as the van wobbled wildly on its half bald tires. 

When the van had slowed to a stop, Dean stared at the dragon in front of him for a moment, still white-knuckling the steering wheel. The dragon was massive, as tall as a house and black as the night sky. Its eyes were as silver as a polished knife and when it opened its massive jaws and angled its snout towards Dean, he saw that it had teeth to match. They glittered maliciously in the bright sunshine. 

“Fuck,” Dean said, brain working frantically. “Ever lovin’ fuck…” In all his presumably many years of driving, nobody had ever taught him what to do when faced with an actual fantasy creature blocking the road. “I’m gonna run for it. Okay, Dean,” he said, gulping several half panicked breaths. “Okay. Let’s go.” He palmed the keys, slipping them between his fingers like a poor parody of Wolverine. 

In one quick motion, Dean opened the door and ran.

Or, he tried to run. 

The beast’s tail whipped over its head as fast as a serpent and thick as a tree. It swept across the ground and although Dean tried to jump over it, the tail collided with his legs and he went tumbling. 

Dean rolled on the ground and found himself lying on his back, the dragon’s head closing in on him. He kicked out with his legs and scrambled his arms into an awkward crab walk backward. 

The dragon tipped its nose down so that Dean could see himself reflected in its silver eyes. It was moving too fast. There was nothing Dean could do. The keys cut into his fingers, seeming so small and useless now that he was confronted with the enormity of the dragon. 

Slowly the beast opened its mouth. Slowly, its tongue extended and Dean could see up close the many rows of razor sharp teeth that the dragon sported. 

Dean cringed backward and closed his eyes against the sight. “Of course this is how it ends,” he gasped. “Of fucking course.”

DEAN

Dean flinched at the sound of his name and peeled open first one eye, then the other. The dragon with its jawful of razor sharp teeth still hovered feet away from his head. 

DEAN WINCHESTER

Perhaps it was the name, or the realization that the speech he’d heard had been in his own head, but Dean’s skull seemed to fracture into a shattered globe of pain. He dropped the keys and clutched at his forehead, keening helplessly against the burning pain. 

TALK TO ME DEAN

There was a grumble of thunder from the beast and a blast of furnace-hot breath. Dean’s eyes closed into slits - it was as wide as he could manage - and he looked at the dragon. The beast seemed to shift before his eyes - now black and chrome - now a brilliant sky blue - now a field of stars earthside in the middle of the day. Dean was so befuddled by pain and his shifting perception of the dragon that he didn’t notice the foot until it was too late.

The dragon lifted their claw. It caught the sun like a long sword and before Dean could dodge to the side, it went straight for the space between his eyes, pressing hard against the skin. 

Dean drowned in the pain until blissful nothing closed over him and he passed out. 

* * *

DEAN

DEAN GET UP. DEEEEAN!

Dean groaned at the mental shout, blinking the supernovas from his eyes as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. There was sky above his head and gravel at his back. He could smell the salty sea and the wild pine breeze rolling off the mountain slopes. Pain throbbed between his eyes and he groaned as the tidal wave of suppressed memories rushed in. He gasped against the flood and rolled to his side, legs and arms curled inward, protectively. 

He may have lain there for seconds, or an hour before the world stopped spinning beneath him. Slowly, Dean opened his eyes and ran a dry tongue along his road-dusted lips. “Warn me next time you’re gonna stick your claw in my brain, man.”

Dean carefully turned his head and when stars didn’t burst in front of his eyes, he raised himself onto one elbow. “Hey, Elbathis,” he said weakly. “Long time, no see.“

DEAN WINCHESTER. DO YOU REMEMBER?

“Yeah.” Dean nodded and rolled to his knees, pushing himself slowly to his feet. He swayed, but felt inordinately proud of himself for keeping his footing as he raised his head to meet the dragon’s eye. “I do. Thanks to your…” He tapped his forehead. “What’d you do?”

I TORE DOWN NAOMI’S WALL. SHE IS SKILLED BUT NOT, the dragon preened, AS CANNY AS MYSELF.

“Right. Glad you’re on our side. Speaking of which…” Dean narrowed his eyes at Elbathis as he dusted fine gravel off the sleeves of his jacket. “I am on Earth, right? Or did I—?”

IT WAS NO DREAM. The dragon’s eyes seemed to roll into its head, splitting Dean’s reflection into facets as they moved. YOU HAVE SPENT JUST OVER A YEAR ON EARTH. YOU, AND THE ANGEL CASTIEL. 

Dean closed his eyes. “Cas.” He pictured Castiel on his little farm in France and let out a bewildered chuckle. “What are the odds that he would’ve found me here?”

VERY HIGH, GIVEN YOUR BOND WITH EACH OTHER.

Dean opened his mouth, but thought better of it and shook his head. That was a lot to unpack, and they didn’t have time for it. ”We gotta go get him, too. Right now.” He tapped his forehead. “You can do the, uh, thing for him, too?”

I CAN. WITH HIS GRACE REMOVED, HIS PHYSIOLOGICAL AND SPIRITUAL SELF MIRROR YOUR OWN.

“Right,” Dean said, remembering Castiel’s panic and pain as his grace was excised on Naomi’s cold floor. Carefully, he regulated his breathing. “We gotta go to him.”

YES. YOU WILL COME WITH ME, DEAN.

“I… Sure.” Dean looked warily up and down the small rural road. “Now?”

Elbathis settled close to the ground and spread their wings out low. NOW, they confirmed. 

Dean approached the dragon nervously, desperately trying to wall off thoughts of hurtling through the air towards the distant ground. He set a hand on Elbathis’s wing and smoothed the feathers. “You feel different,” he said. 

Something like sheepishness seemed to roll between Dean and Elbathis. I AM SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO FIND YOU. I TRACKED YOUR BOND A DAY AGO BUT… Disgust seeped into their words. CREATING A PHYSICAL VESSEL TOOK LONGER THAN I ANTICIPATED.

“You made yourself a meat suit?” Dean asked, his fingers stalling on the feathers. It was easier to think of Elbathis as something like a large, eager puppy. But the dragon’s mind was vast and likely far more complex than Dean would ever be able to grasp, if Elbathis was able to harness matter to their will. Imbue it with spirit. There were times when Dean looked at Castiel and saw his true self, vast and ancient, and felt incredibly small and impossibly young in comparison. There were times when he stared into Castiel’s eyes and saw the ineffable expanding universe watching him. He felt like that now, looking at the dragon.

YES. MORTAL FLESH IS…DISGUSTING. CONFINING. Elbathis’s wings flapped irritably. LET US FETCH YOUR ANGEL AND BE ON OUR WAY. THE ANGELS IN HEAVEN ARE REPAIRING THE SHIELDS ON THE NODES. WE ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “That sounds about right.” He pulled himself astride Elbathis and settled between their wings. “Oh! Hold on.” He dug out his cellphone, only to find the screen cracked beyond all usefulness. Dean swore sharply. “I’ve gotta call Sam. He’s probably… Hell, he’s probably off doing something stupid.” Dean sighed and patted the soft tufts of feathers along Elbathis’s back. “Well, after we find Cas, Sam can help us,” Dean said. 

I LOOK FORWARD TO IT, Elbathis said. AND TO EATING. ALREADY THIS VESSEL DEMANDS SUSTENANCE. Their teeth clacked together in aggravation. 

“Eat,” Dean said. “Right.”

JUST A COUPLE OF COWS

MAYBE A PIG

“Sure, why not,” Dean said and held on tightly as the dragon launched itself from the ground and flung them high into the sky. 

* * *

The flight to France was long and cold, even with Elbathis’s heated hide warming Dean up. It was with gratitude that Dean finally stumbled onto the ground outside of Castiel’s small cottage and stretched. He grinned as he imagined the look on Castiel’s face as he was confronted with Elbathis for the first time, without his memories. There would be fear, perhaps, but knowing him, joy and awe at the wonders of existence would likely weigh out. 

Castiel’s cabin was just as he had described it to Dean, tucked back behind the farm’s main buildings. It was dark through the windows and Dean motioned to Elbathis to stand a little way back from the building while he knocked. It wouldn’t do to have Castiel open the door in the middle of the night to find both Dean and a giant dragon standing there. While Castiel with his memories intact might merely squint at the both of them, given his millennia of experience in the world, he couldn’t be assured that the Castiel he met in Vancouver would react the same. He’d been living on this quiet farm for more than a year, after all. Who knew how he had chosen to adapt to the agrarian lifestyle? 

Dean knocked on the door, at first quietly but when there was no response, he pounded louder on the wood. The door rattled within its frame, but there was no reply. “Cas?” he called. “Castiel?” 

He tried the handle but the door was locked. Dean cast around his pockets for something to pick the lock, cursing himself for having none of his usual kit on him. A lockpick kit simply wasn’t required gear for a production assistant, no matter how competent. 

THE WINDOW IS AJAR

Elbathis had shifted over towards the other side of the house, their neck craning around to peer at a window on the far wall.

“That’ll work,” Dean said and hurried over to the window. He pushed it open and the window groaned as he compressed its ancient springs. Dean shoved it open enough to crawl inside, flashing a thumbs up to Elbathis as his leg found footing on the other side. Carefully, Dean slipped into Castiel’s cottage. 

Dean waited a moment for his eyesight to adjust to the darkness inside. Once it did, his heart started to pound. Furniture lay broken on the floor, chairs tossed onto an upturned table and a cracked leg dangling to the side. He shifted forward carefully and something crunched noisily under his shoe. Dean glanced down to catalog it, and store it away for later. A broken dish. A mug with its handle broken. A bookshelf lying on its face, books spilling out from underneath it like a crushed body. 

“Cas!” Dean shouted. “Cas! Answer me, damn it.” 

He fumbled open drawers in the kitchen and found a butcher’s knife, thick and sharp. Dean hefted it before him, then started to search the house.

The cottage was small with a tiny kitchen bleeding into the living room. In the single bedroom in the back, Dean found a carefully made bed and dusted wooden shelves untouched by whatever had laid siege to the rest of the house. One of the sculptures on the shelves caught his eye and he picked it up and turned it over in his hand. It was a carefully wrought sculpture of himself, carved by nimble hands into wood. Dean clenched the carving in his hand so hard it hurt and looked around the room. It was littered with carved wood - some birds and animals - but mostly Dean. 

“Cas,” Dean whispered. “Where the hell are you, man?” He set the sculpture back on the shelf and raced to the front door, throwing it open. Elbathis sat neatly in the turnaround, tail curled around in a loop and wings folded small. “Can you sense him?” Dean burst out. “Can you find Cas the way you found me?”

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. HE IS NOT HERE?

Dean looked frantically around the landscape of the dark farm and its wide, black fields. “No, he’s not. Looks like there was a fight, too.” He scraped his palm against the back of his head in frustration. “How did you find me?”

I WAS DRAWN TO YOU BY A RESONANCE FORGED BY OUR CONNECTION IN HEAVEN.

“Our connection?” Dean asked, starting off for the main farmhouse in a run.

WHEN YOU AND CASTIEL HEALED ME, WE FORMED A DEEP CONNECTION. YOUR BOND CALLED TO ME WHEN YOU TWO RECONNECTED. IT ALLOWED ME TO TRACK YOU TO VANCOUVER. FROM THERE I COULD--

“What? How’d you find me?”

I COULD SMELL YOU, Elbathis admitted and Dean was struck with the sense that this manifestation of bodily function disgusted him. 

“Okay, so smell for Cas now. He had the same vessel in Heaven.”

I CANNOT SMELL HIM. IF HE IS ALIVE, HE IS TOO FAR AWAY.

The words felt like a punch to Dean’s gut and he gasped against the sharp pain. “He’s alive,” Dean said. “And we’ll find him.”

The locked farmhouse lay as quiet as Castiel’s cottage, but this time Dean didn’t bother knocking. He picked up a rock from the flower bed and hefted it once in his hand before smashing it through the window. Then, using his clothed elbow to knock loose the rest of the glass, he made room to slip inside. 

The state of the farmhouse was marginally better. The furniture didn’t lay in disarray, but from the back something thudded loudly, a pounding against one of the walls. Brandishing his knife, Dean advanced through the house. 

He found the source of the thumping in the master bedroom closet. Carefully, his knife ready, Dean threw open the door. Two aged, pale faces stared up at him. They were lashed to a metal strut in the closet, arms and legs tightly bound. The closet smelled like blood and fear and Dean wondered how long they had been tied up. How long ago had Castiel been accosted. 

He glanced around the room one more time, then carefully lowered himself to one knee, knife held away from them. “It’s okay,” he told them and hoped his calm tone would get through to them if they didn’t speak English. “I’m gonna get you free, okay?” He set down the knife near his knee and slowly reached for the old woman. They were both gagged and the woman seemed to moan in despair at his appearance, flinching away from his touch. “It’s okay,” he told her again and gently loosened the gag until he could pull it away from her mouth. 

She licked her lips and croaked at him as Dean swiftly undid her husband’s gag. “What happened?” he asked them. “Where’s Castiel?”

The questions seemed fruitless but at Castiel’s name the man seemed to perk up. “Castiel?” he croaked. “Que sais-tu de lui?” 

“Castiel,” Dean repeated, showing them the knife and then quickly slicing away at their bonds when they held them out to him. “Where is he? What happened? Is he okay?”

The woman seemed to have moistened her mouth enough to speak. She said at last in a rapid, quiet stream, “Il a été pris par des ninjas! Ninjas, ici dans notre petite ferme. Oh, dieu, aide-nous s'il te plaît.” The woman’s eyes were dry but red from weeping.

“Ninjas?” Dean asked, picking up on a familiar-sounding word. “Did you say ninjas?”

“Ninjas!” the old woman gabbled, nodding wildly. “Il a été pris par des ninjas. Ninjas femelles.”


	10. Chapter 10

## Part Three: Heaven for Everyone

Dean showed up at the entrance of the bunker on the back of Elbathis as dawn scraped the Kansas sky pink. There was a chance, he knew, that nearby residents might have noticed a giant black dragon soaring through the sky but right now he didn’t care. Castiel was gone, taken out of Elbathis’s sensory range, and Dean would use every tool at his disposal to uncover his whereabouts. He’d tried to call Sam, or anyone else from the bunker, for that matter. But something big must have happened while he and Castiel were away because the cell phones he tried were either disconnected or went straight to voicemail, and never returned.

He turned back to Elbathis, standing quietly in the drive. “You can’t stay here,” he said. “You’ll be seen.”

I WILL FLY OUT TO SEARCH FOR CASTIEL AND RETURN IN ONE DAY. PRAY FOR ME IF YOU NEED ME TO RETURN SOONER.

“Okay. Alright. Thank you.”

Elbathis dipped their head and then with one graceful leap, launched into the air. Within minutes they had disappeared into the cover of clouds.

“Sam?” Dean called as he strode through the bunker’s door. “Sammy?” Maybe he was gone. Maybe there was a hunt. _Maybe he’s dead. Maybe they’re all dead_. The thought gnawed its way into Dean. It would serve him right if something terrible befell his family while he was off living it up in Canada. “Sam?”

But soon enough footsteps echoed down the hall and Sam skittered into view, gun drawn and directed up towards the top of the stairs. He froze when he saw Dean, eyes wide. “Dean?” he asked. “Is that really you? Where have you been?”

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said, feeling suddenly weak with relief and exhaustion. “Where I’ve been is a long ass story. You okay? Where’s Mom and everyone else?”

Sam pushed his hair away from his face and slowly dropped the gun. “Uh, wendigo in Oregon and a nest of vamps in Texas.” His gaze searched Dean almost frantically and as soon as Dean drew within arm’s reach he pulled him into a tight hug.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder and allowed himself a short smile. “Glad you guys are alright.” Then, he sighed and drew back. “I need your help. Someone’s got Cas.”

“What do you know?” Then Sam shook his head. “Let’s start at the beginning. What happened? Where’ve you been for the past year?” he asked again as he laid his gun on the war room table.

“Long story but…we got caught. We had undone the shielding on all the nodes and were headed to the Garden to disable the grid. The angels got me and Cas. And Charlie. Our Charlie.” Dean’s fingers curled into an aggravated fist. “The angels sent her back too. Back to Earth.” He started for the hallway leading out of the war room.

“Sent her back? To where? When?” Sam curled his hand into Dean’s shirt and pulled him to a stop. “Dean, it’d been so long, I thought that you had died. We’ve had no contact with Heaven since you and Cas left. I tried to head up there myself, but the doorway wouldn’t activate.”

“Sam, I—” Dean halted in his beeline to the supply room. “Wait, the sandbox is broken?”

Sam nodded. “I tried all the spells but it’s totally inactive. I can’t even get the sigils to form anymore. It’s all just…sand. Straight down to the soil.”

Dean swore. That was another complication that would have to wait. Their plot to free Heaven was important but Dean would rather dive back into the pits of Hell than let Castiel become just another sacrifice for the greater good. “We’ll figure it out when we get there,” Dean growled. “For now, I need the ScryMaster.” The scrying computer was something that Charlie and Rowena had worked on in the months prior to Dean’s mission to Heaven. “That still works, right?”

“It’s not called the ScryMaster, Dean. And yeah it works but…” Dean deflated at Sam’s tone and he guessed the rest before Sam said it. “We tried that with you for months. We tried it again just weeks ago. If you’ve been on Earth and we didn’t find you...?”

“I was on Earth for a year,” Dean said as he strode into the computer room. The room lit as he entered, computer banks chittering and lights flashing as though in greeting. “But I was going by Dean Smith at the time. Convinced I was Dean Smith.” At Sam’s curious look he explained, “Amnesia. Naomi put my memories behind a wall. I thought I was Dean Smith, so the computer wouldn’t track me then, right? It only sniffs out aliases if they’re knowingly fake.” 

The ScryMaster was a wide square table shoved in the corner of the computer room, boxed in by shelves full of arcane equipment and mysterious glass jars. Dean flicked on the main power switch and a map of the world lit up the surface. Dean pulled up an old serial port keyboard, plugged it into the odd gel-adapter next to the built-in shelf and began to type. A readout appeared superimposed over the map. “We add some parameters to Cas’s search. He’s a farmer. Thinks he’s French. Goes by the name of Castiel Martin.” He hesitated and then added one more attribute. “Human.”

“Human?” Sam’s question was quiet, barely heard above the hum of the computer banks. 

Dean suppressed a sickened shudder at the memory, now as raw and fresh as the day it had happened. “The angels cut his grace out. Before they sent us back. So…he’s human now.” Dean finished entering the data and hit the Enter key. Immediately, the computer began to make a high-pitched whirring sound, a combination of eldritch gears and cooling fans. “Okay,” Dean leaned against the computer. “Come on.”

An hour later, Dean rubbed his face wearily, a plate of cold chicken sitting mostly untouched on the metal stool next to him. “So if we move quickly,” he said to Sam. “We can disable the grid before the shields on the nodes go back up. We gotta find Cas, figure out a way up to Heaven, and get the job done.” He groaned and slumped onto the table. The table beeped at him as though berating him for his impatience. “Hey, where is everyone, anyway?”

“Uh, well, Mary and Bobby took Jack on a hunt. Most of our other regulars are off on hunts too. I just called—” Sam began.

Suddenly the door slammed open. Eileen Leahy stood in the doorway, breathing hard. “Dean!” burst from her lips.

“What?” Dean said stupidly. For a moment he forgot about Castiel, about Charlie utterly in the wind, about their ill fated mission in Heaven. Because Eileen Leahy stood alive in the same room as him. She was flushed and breathing and - _breathing._ Dean worried for a moment that everything had been a dream. Surely, he was still in Heaven in Naomi’s chair while she meddled with his brain. 

Sam cleared his throat. He turned towards Eileen and his hands lifted and began to move fluidly. “So. Yeah. Dean, the Men of Letters did not kill Eileen. She gave them the slip and found her way back here about ten months ago.”

“Trapped in Ukrainian salt mines,” Eileen said, her eyes flicking between Sam’s narration and Dean. She smiled a little sheepishly. “Long story.”

“She’s back and, um, we’re…married.”

Dean turned his shocked look back to Sam. “Married,” he said. “ _Married_ married?”

Eileen slipped into the room and Sam lifted his arm to hold her close. “Married,” Eileen confirmed. She wrinkled her nose uncertainly at Dean and he shook his head.

“Wow. I mean,” he opened his arms. “Congratulations, you two.” 

Eileen let herself be drawn into a hug and Sam thumped him on the back several times before letting go. Dean punched Sam in the arm as he drew back, a little harder than necessary. “What the hell, man? Married? I’ve been here for a couple hours and I find this out now?” He turned to Eileen. “Couldn’t be happier but… Sam!”

Sam held up his hands in a placating gesture before continuing to sign. “Sorry. You’re worried about Cas and it just didn’t seem like the right time. I told her to get back here as fast as she could.”

At the mention of Castiel’s name, worry re-established its grip on Dean. “Yeah. I get that.”

The silence was interrupted by a bright flash from the table and a gentle _ping_. “It’s done!” Dean shouted and he rushed for the table. The map was no longer overlaid with bland green status text. Instead a bright light flashed in the general vicinity of southern France. “Oh thank god,” he gasped, slumping over the table. “He’s alive. And in France still. Those fucking… Well, it shouldn’t be too hard to find ninjas in France.”

Sam was signing to Eileen when she gasped and jabbed her finger at the blaring dot. She tapped it hard. “That’s the city of Saint Crispin,” she said. “You’re looking for ninjas? Well, they’ve got ninjas there. Sort of. There’s a rumored collective of warrior nuns there,” Eileen explained at Dean’s puzzled look. 

“The angels can’t leave Heaven,” Sam murmured. “So they send someone devout to do their dirty work for them.”

“That’s just Tuesday for the God squad.” Dean rubbed his hands together. “Alright, I’m gonna need all the intel you can pull on this Saint Crispin order of…warrior nuns.” Dean pushed his way past them with an absent-minded pat.

“Where are you going?” Sam called after him. 

“Weapons room! I’m gonna need everything.” Dean walked briskly down the hallway and as he did so he closed one eye and worked on mustering up a prayer. “Hear ye, hear ye, Elbathis. I found him. He’s still in France. Come pick me up and I’ll—”

“Whoa!” Sam said from behind him. “You’re not going there alone, Dean.”

“I won’t be alone,” Dean said, shrugging off the interruption. “I’ll have Elbathis.”

“Your weird Heaven dragon?” Sam turned to Eileen and started signing at her rapidly. “We’re going, Dean.”

Eileen’s eyes widened as she watched Sam, pulling her hand to her chin and flying it out, questioningly. When Sam nodded she finally snapped her mouth shut and nodded firmly. “We’re in this together, Dean.”

Dean frowned at them and then nodded sharply. “Okay. Let’s gear up.” He watched Sam and Eileen walk purposefully away, signing furiously between them, and sighed. “Elbathis,” he tried again. “Got your ears on? We found him. We’re gonna bring him home.”

* * *

Elbathis announced their arrival by trumpeting straight into Dean’s mind, WE HAVE ARRIVED.

“We?” Dean said with rising excitement, jumping up from the map room table so quickly that a chair toppled over. Had Elbathis somehow rescued Castiel already? Dean had sent the details in his prayer, but with Elbathis at such a distance, Dean had no way to know if they’d gotten the message at all.

THEY SAY THEIR NAME IS CHARLIE. THEY ARE VERY EAGER TO SEE YOU.

“Charlie?” Dean raced up the bunker stairs, closely followed by Sam. 

Outside they found Charlie dismounting from Elbathis with a muffled squeal of joy, followed by another young woman Dean had never seen before. 

“Charlie? Is that--? Are you--? Elbathis? How—?” 

“Dean!” Charlie flew into his arms. Her hair was cut into a bob and she looked more freckled and sun-kissed than he ever remembered seeing her. “You made your way back home! I knew you could. Well, I didn’t _know_ it but once I remembered you I knew it? Anyway.” She gestured back at Elbathis. “Did you know I rode a dragon here?”

“I see that.” Dean turned to Elbathis, bemused. “How the hell did you find her? You’re Charlie from, uh, our world?”

“I summoned Elbathis,” Charlie said proudly, nodding. “See, I’d been having these dreams about Heaven. And I looked up some spells on the internet, and it finally worked.”

“What worked?”

Charlie sucked in an excited breath. “I set up a prayer beacon about a month ago to draw the ‘benevolent forces of Heaven’ to me. The spell’s supposed to get an angel to show up at your door. Like, a guardian angel who wants to help you out? I didn’t get any angels but finally this feathery beauty showed up. I was a little freaked out at first but then it clawed me in the head and…and everything came back to me. Also, I totally have a psychic connection with a dragon now, which is nine levels of amazing.” She looked around. “Where’s Cas?”

“Cas has been captured,” Dean said, a little breathlessly. “We’re heading off now to rescue him. We were just waiting on Elbathis.”

“Okay,” Charlie said, moving away from Dean to wrap her arms around Sam. 

“Okay?” 

“I’m in!” Charlie chirped enthusiastically. She gestured behind her to the woman standing there. “Me and my girlfriend, Nisha.”

The other woman waved and smiled cheerfully, as though she rode dragons to mysterious, abandoned power plants every day. 

Dean shook his head. “Look, I appreciate it. I really do. But we don’t know who we’re up against and Elbathis can only carry so many.” The dragon grumbled in agreement. “We gotta find another way into Heaven and we gotta move fast. According to Elbathis, the angels are repairing the shielding. Can you work on finding a way back into Heaven while we’re bringing Cas back?”

Charlie nodded, crossing back to Nisha and taking her hand. Dean didn’t think it was his imagination that she looked a little relieved. “Sounds good.”

Eileen rushed through the bunker doorway. She had a backpack on her back and Dean’s duffle bag of weapons slung over her shoulder. “It’s time?” she asked, mouth dropping into an astonished grin as she took in the massive dragon settled in the gravel turnaround. 

“We’re ready to go, yeah. You ready, pal?” Dean finally thought to ask Elbathis. 

Elbathis arched their head. OF COURSE. LET US FINISH THIS.

“You guys be careful,” Charlie said as Dean, Sam, and Eileen climbed onto Elbathis’s shoulders and settled between their wings. “You too, Elbathis.” She patted the dragon fondly on the leg before moving back with Nisha to give the dragon space to take off. 

I LIKE HER, Elbathis said with enthusiasm as they spread their wings wide. 

“Everyone does,” Dean said as Elbathis sprang into the air, and he smiled down at Charlie’s shrinking figure below. _It’s good to have you in the world again._ They may have failed at their original mission, or been delayed at least. But seeing Charlie alive again was one win he was happy to count in their corner. He buried himself in the warmth of Elbathis’s neck as Eileen whooped in elation behind him, and set his thoughts towards rescuing Castiel.

* * *

The nuns of Saint Crispin lived on a vast, green plateau in the Pyrenees that overlooked the small village below. A crumbling castle stood on one edge, settled against jagged boulders. Built around the castle in smooth, modern wood and glass, lay the nun’s compound. In the moonlight the plateau was a placid place. The compound gleamed a pale silver, blending into the rocks and castle wall behind it. Dean eyed it from above and plotted their attack. 

Eileen and Sam hadn’t managed to dredge up more information than the location of the compound, and that the nuns had a fierce reputation. From above, the compound formed an “L” shape around the castle. Dean imagined that there were considerable defenses within the crumbling ruins as well as through the gleaming wooden doors fronting the newer building. The question was, which way in would be worse? 

Elbathis settled in the clearing and dipped low to let the three humans dismount. Dean landed in the grass and slid free his gun. “Can you smell Cas, Elbathis?”

I CAN. HE IS SOMEWHERE WITHIN THAT BUILDING. Elbathis lifted their paw and flicked it like a cat trying to remove mud from its pads. THE BUILDING SMELLS STRANGE. LIKE MAGIC.

“I’ll bet it does,” Dean said. He turned to Sam and Eileen. “Cas is inside. Elbathis thinks it’s warded.”

“I’m sure it is,” Eileen said cooly, slipping her backpack from her shoulders. “But I don’t think they’ll be ready for this.” She drew out several small golden balls, translucent and glowing dimly. “Ward busters,” she said in explanation. “Breaks through nearly everything. Found ‘em in the salt caves. They’re how I busted out of there.”

Sam took a few from her hand. “Ward busters. How do they work?”

Eileen shrugged. “Pretty easy. Toss ‘em at a perimeter and they’ll muffle the wards. Warnings or magical barriers, both seem to fall to them. If that place is warded, it won’t be for long. We’ll have a hour to find Cas before they wear off.”

Dean took a handful of ward busters and turned them over in his hand. They felt like liquid filled bath pods, the membranes rolling between his fingers fluidly. “Nice,” he said appreciatively. “I was thinking we go at the front door. They’re probably expecting an attack from the old castle’s side. But that’s probably got more nooks and crannies to hide in than we’ll ever find - especially in the dark.”

“I agree,” Sam said. “Pretty dark in there already.”

Dean looked at the compound. The windows were black sheets, revealing nothing from within. “It’s not _that_ late here. You think they’re on to us?”

“Almost definitely,” Eileen said, busily sliding knives into hidden sleeves and pockets. “I’m guessing flying in on a dragon’ll do that.”

I’M EXTREMELY QUIET, Elbathis protested.

“You’re extremely large,” Dean corrected. “And also who knows how much Heaven mojo you’ve got running through you. You might’ve tripped the alarms from 800 feet.” He patted Elbathis absently and chewed his lip, staring at the compound. “We go in the front doors,” he said finally. “Guns blazing if we have to.”

Sam took a deep, steadying breath and let it out in one fierce exhale. “We’ve taken on squads of demons. We can handle a few nuns.”

Eileen just set her lips grimly, pulled out her lean black gun, and thumbed off the safety. “Let’s go,” she said, gesturing them forward. 

They encountered a wall almost instantly. A hundred feet from the entrance to the compound, they were stopped short by an invisible barrier that vibrated under their touch. Dean raised a brow at Eileen and Sam, then lobbed one of his ward busters at it. The air seemed to shimmer in front of him, and then they were pushing their way through and racing towards the doors again. 

They threw the ward busters before them now, snatching them up when they didn’t burst and reusing them as they made their way through a minefield of enchantments towards the entrance. The doors themselves were unlocked and slid open on silent hinges as Dean set his hand to them. He let them swing open, pressing against the thick wood of one of the doors, and led the way inside. 

The front room of the compound was vast, like a warehouse built from polished wood and marble. Vaulted ceilings disappeared into darkness and low couches littered the wide room. It was a greeting area, a gathering space. Wherever Castiel was held, it must be further in. 

The nuns attacked swiftly and silently, dropping down like disturbed spiders from the ceiling. Dean whirled his gun at the first one he saw and managed to get a shot off, the nun dropping to the ground with a grunt of pain. He whirled to gesture to Sam and Eileen and a foot connected with his gun arm, sending pain up to his shoulder and rendering his fingers temporarily numb as the nun’s nimble foot jabbed at a key bundle of nerves in his forearm. His gun spun off in a whirl of silver and then the nun was on him. 

In the moonlight coming in from the windows he could only make out flashes of silver and black and a pair of grim eyes dissecting his moves, intent on destroying him. Dean stumbled back, throwing up his arms to protect himself from the nun’s blows. Dimly, he could hear Sam and Eileen engaged in their own fights. The sounds of harsh breathing, flesh meeting flesh, and the occasional scrape of furniture against marble filled the vast room. 

The nun he fought was joined by another and Dean was knocked backward, knees buckling against a low settee. He rolled across it and to the other side, grabbing up a decorative pillow and using it to block the thrust of a knife, catching the blade in the stuffing and wrenching it from the nun’s hands. He could see his gun lying just feet away. If he could only leap there...roll there…

A fist connected with his jaw and another hand clutched his hair and pulled him aside hard, arm sweeping in for a headlock. Dean blocked it, writhing to the side and rocking back to kick his legs up and out. He connected with a nun and watched her black-swathed body fly into the shadowed room and out of sight. 

The other nun pulled out a long slightly curved blade from a sheath at her back and held it out at an artful angle. She paused like that, eyes white pools in her night-dark habit. A burnished silver cross hung lopsided from her collar. It must have fallen loose as they’d grappled earlier. The woman’s eyes crinkled beneath her closely wrapped clothing and Dean knew she was smiling at him. She thought she’d won. 

“You know you’re holding an angel prisoner, right?” he spat at her, scrabbling backwards on his hands until he could push himself upright. He watched her blade warily as he continued, “You might think you’re doing the will of God but lady, believe me when I say the will of Heaven and the word of God ain’t nowhere near the same thing. And that man you’re holding down in your dungeon--” She flinched minutely and glanced down and to the left for a microsecond before returning her defiant gaze to Dean. _Aha,_ Dean thought. _Found you, Cas._ “That man you’re holding down there is gonna save us all. Now, let’s be reasonable. Let’s lay down our weapons and--”

She struck out like a snake - one moment utterly still and the next lashing out at Dean with her sword. Dean leapt backward, kicking out at a squat, padded footstool so that it toppled over wildly at her. The nun leapt over the stool and slashed at Dean’s sleeve. He dodged and felt the white hot slice of the blade along his shoulder, deep but not debilitating. He switched tactics then, from retreat to attack and lowered his head, barreling towards her.

Dean made contact with her torso, knocking at her chest with the hard edge of his shoulder. He heard her gasp as the wind was knocked from her and he twisted towards her to take her down. She fisted a hand in his jacket and pulled him away with astonishing strength, spinning him up and around. In a blink, in a breath, her sword was pressed up against his throat. 

A warm trickle of blood ran down his skin and soaked into his collar. Dean held utterly still as she pressed her sword against him. “Stop this madness,” she said in perfect English against his ear. “Come quietly and you may join your friend until we receive word to let you go.”

Dean opened his mouth to tell her, defiantly, that he’d never surrender. There was more than one way to get back to Heaven and they didn’t have time to fuck around, thank you very much. But Eileen’s voice sounded from the shadows. “Drop your sword,” she said pleasantly to the nun. “Your friends are dead or unconscious. Surely you don’t wish to join them?” She walked into the moonbeam cast along the floor, her gun a shadow in her hands. 

“Drop your weapon,” the nun hissed. “Or I kill him.”

“You heard him,” Eileen said. “He’ll die if he has to, if it means we finish our mission. But I assure you, if you kill him you and your sisters will see no mercy from us tonight.” 

“The angels will--”

“The angels aren’t gonna do jack shit to you,” Dean said, ignoring the nun’s rough intake of breath and aggressive push with the blade. “They’re stuck in Heaven. Can’t leave or the whole damn thing comes tumbling down. Hell, when I see them again I’ll even put in a good word for you.”

The nun was silent, no doubt contemplating the veracity - and blasphemy - of his words. “Just let him go,” Sam said, appearing beside Eileen. He was panting and blood streaked from his temple in a wide red sheet. He nodded sharply at Dean in a way that said, _I’m alright._ “And we’ll get our friend and leave you in peace.”

By the flexing of her fingers against his back, Dean knew a half second before she moved to slice his throat. He acted on instinct alone, pushing back against her to wedge his fingers between his throat and the blade, leveraging the sword up and away just as a shot rang out in the quiet quarters. The hands holding Dean fell lax and the sword fell away. Dean sidestepped, fingers and throat burning, and looked down at the nun lying on the moonlit carpet. Blood spilled out from the vicinity of her head and her eyes were wide and staring. “Thanks,” he said, and winced at the cut on his throat, taking his sleeve and pressed it up against the wound. It came away wet, but not soaked. He’d live. 

“Don’t mention it,” said Eileen.

“You know where Cas is?” Sam asked, warily looking up and down the hall.

“I think their dungeon’s downstairs.” Dean crossed the few steps to his gun and picked it up. He already felt better with its weight settled in his hand. “Let’s go. Some of these nunjas are gonna start waking up soon. I’d rather get out before they do.”

They hurried down through the hall, trying doors, until at last they found one that opened into a deep dark stairwell. It smelled like wet stone and cold earth. “I bet they’re using the old castle’s dungeon,” Dean said. His theory appeared correct as they moved farther down into the earth, knocking back magical barriers with their remaining ward busters. He thought they must be moving further back in the plateau now and by his reckoning, they must now be under the main keep of the old castle. 

They arrived at last in an old cell block. Thick iron doors with tiny wrought windows blocked their way and Dean pounded on the door. If there was a guard inside, he’d draw her out. Otherwise, he needed to know. “Cas!” he shouted. “Castiel, are you in there?”

There was silence for a sickening moment before, “Dean? Dean is that you?”

“Cas! Hold on, buddy. We’re gonna get you outta there.” He tried to wrench open the door but it was locked tight. Dean ground his teeth and looked back at Sam and Eileen. 

Sam was already starting to wheel around and head back up to search the nuns for keys when Eileen knelt calmly on the ground. “Tell Castiel to find some cover and close his eyes,” she said. She pulled out a cloth wrapped box, pulling off the fabric to reveal an ornate stone rectangle. Eileen pulled off the lid and reached inside, drawing out a little metal pillbox. “I found this when I was doing inventory in Room 618,” she said. “And if I read the directions right, it’ll unlock anything, but it’s powerful as hell. Get down the hallway, get around the corner, Sam.”

“Cas!” Dean pounded on the door again. “You got a place you can shelter in there, away from the door?”

After another moment of quiet, Castiel shouted, “Yes,” through the door.

“Good. Get small and low, man. Cover your eyes. We’re gonna try to blast the door. You ready?”

“I’m ready.” Castiel’s voice was more muffled now and Dean tapped Eileen on the shoulder.

“We’re good to go,” he told her.

“Good. Get cover,” she said shortly. “This is probably going to be fast.” She took a glistening blue drop from pillbox and pressed it into the wide metal keyhole, then sprinted for the cover Sam and Dean had found. Dean closed his eyes and as something as bright as the sun filled the dungeon, he threw his arms over his face and pressed himself against the wall, wondering if the end was coming for them in fire. 

To his surprise, moments later the light was gone. The dungeon was just as cool and earthy as it had been before. Dean blinked until the sparks in his eyes dissipated and he could make out objects with the thin beam of his flashlight again. The door to the dungeon stood open. Dean raced for it. “Cas!” he shouted, flinging the door wide and running inside. “Cas?”

A groan sounded from the corner. There was an upturned bench and behind it, Castiel slowly pushed himself up from his low crouch. He blinked towards the doorway and Dean could tell his vision hadn’t yet cleared. “Cas,” he said quietly, swiftly crossing the room and falling to his knees on the other side of the bench. “I’m here, Cas,” he said, gently laying a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. 

Castiel blinked rapidly then leaned into Dean, hand fumbling up to find Dean’s chest. He wound his fingers into Dean’s shirt and pulled him forward so their foreheads knocked together. “Dean,” Castiel said, the word cracking from his lips. He cleared his throat roughly. “How did you find me?”

“Long story,” Dean said and brought up his other hand to cradle Castiel’s face. His skin was stained in purpling bruises and dried blood ran from a gash on his head. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?”

“Okay.” After a moment, Castiel pulled away and Dean could tell that his eyes were starting to focus. As soon as he could make out Dean’s face in the flashlight’s beam, he smiled shakily. “Thank god you came. I’ve been fed nothing but salads and seeds for the past few days. It’s been torture.”

“Red meat coming right up,” Dean laugh came out fractured in desperate relief. “We’ll do drive-through on the way home.” He peeled back Castiel’s collar and ran a careful hand through his hair, feeling for lumps. “You okay to stand up? Walk?”

“Yes,” Castiel hissed as he pulled himself upright, leaning heavily on Dean as he did so. “I can walk.” 

Dean helped Castiel over the upturned bench and they made their way to the door. Sam looked back at them as they emerged. “Hey, Cas,” he said with a grin, then jerked his chin towards the tunnel leading back to the main compound. “Eileen’s scoping out the fight ahead. We figure by now some of the nuns might’ve woken up. We should get moving.”

Castiel nodded uncertainly at Sam who, Dean realized with a sinking feeling, he didn’t remember. “He’s a friend,” Dean told him gently. “We’re gonna get you outta here. We might have to fight--”

“I can fight,” Castiel said grimly. He let go of Dean and his shoulders pushed back. “I tried to fight them off when they took me. But there were too many.”

“I figured,” Dean said, remembering the chaos of his cottage. “Looked like a hell of a fight.” He pulled a long blade from the sheath strapped to his calf and held it out to Castiel. “You know how to handle a blade?” Castiel nodded sharply, and took the knife without another word. His jaw was square, stubborn, and any trace of uncertainty seemed to have fallen away like a torn curtain. 

Eileen was waiting for them at the top of the stairs. She held up five fingers, then one, her other hand steadily pointing her gun towards the slit in the doorway. Dean nodded and they followed her out the door and into the waiting melee of whirling swords and black-clad women. 

When they finally pushed their way from the nuns’ compound, it was to find Elbathis eclipsing the moonlight as they hovered over the doorway. 

IT TOOK YOU A VERY LONG TIME, the dragon said anxiously. 

“Yeah, well, you know how it goes. Those nuns with swords, man.” Dean tugged at Castiel who had stopped stock-still as soon as they ran outside. 

“Is that a--” Castiel said, with a perfect look of wonder on his face. Dean smiled at him, pleased that he’d been right about Castiel’s reaction and grateful just to see him alive. But Castiel’s wonder at the dragon reminded him of his excised memories. Castiel still didn’t know who Dean _really_ was, and that loss felt like a hole within him as well.

“It’s a long story, Cas,” Dean said as Elbathis craned their neck down to peer into Castiel’s face. “Meet Elbathis. Elbathis is a cosmos dragon.”

Castiel simply stood, swaying a little, and looked at Elbathis. “A dragon,” he said at last. “Of course.”

“And our way out of here,” Sam said urgently from Elbathis’s back. “Can you climb up?” He reached out his hand and with Dean and Eileen’s support from below, Castiel was able to climb up onto Elbathis’s back. Dean scrambled up behind him and Eileen strapped her backpack down tightly and clambered up over Elbathis’s leg and onto his back. She hastily refilled her gun as Elbathis backed up and prepared to fly.

Five bloodied nuns raced from the compound just as Elbathis launched from the mountain cliff and Dean fired a jaunty salute at them, his other arm wrapped tightly around Castiel. Within minutes, the compound was just a gleam on the mountainside.

* * *

When they arrived back at the bunker, the sun had risen on the other side of the world. Castiel slid from Elbathis with an almost suppressed groan and turned to the dragon thoughtfully. He patted Elbathis on the nose and, very gently, Elbathis lifted their claw and pressed it to Castiel’s forehead. 

Castiel didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even look alarmed. Instead, an expression of calm inevitability spread over his features. His eyes fluttered shut and he collapsed.

Dean had been expecting it, but still couldn’t stop himself from gasping out Castiel’s name and rushing forward. Elbathis stood over Castiel, one claw set against his forehead, and their eyes half lidded in concentration. Dean hovered, hands off, and ready to swoop in as soon as Elbathis indicated that he might. 

When the dragon at last pulled away Dean crashed to his knees and eased Castiel’s head into his lap. He pushed his fingers through Castiel’s lengthening hair, brushing them lightly around the bruises. “Did you do it?”

I THINK SO. WE WILL KNOW MORE WHEN HE AWAKENS.

Dean didn’t have to wait long. Castiel stirred in his arms. His eyes opened, red but steady on Dean’s face. “Dean.” he said. A cold shock of relief and recognition sped over Dean at the gruff tone and North American accent. 

“D’you remember me?” Dean asked earnestly. “And Sam and hunting and...and ..?”

Castiel swallowed hard and Dean brushed his fingers against his cracked lips. “I remember everything, Dean,” he said. Then, with more strength than Dean expected, Castiel reached up with one hand, grasped Dean’s collar and tugged. Dean was pulled down into a long, warm, deep kiss.

When they pulled away at last Castiel murmured, “I was worried about you. I tried to stop the Naomi from hurting you but I--”

“It’s okay.” They were still close, Dean bent over Castiel like a shelter. He stroked his face, his neck, and kissed him again. “We both made it. Hell, we all did. Charlie’s here too.”

“She is?”

“Yep.” Dean tried out a casual wink. “Found a girl, too.” He pulled back as Castiel sucked in a breath, rolled to his side, and began to push himself up. 

“And you, my friend,” Castiel said to Elbathis. “How have you fared since coming to Earth?” 

Elbathis gave a nonverbal reply to this, fluffing out their feathers and then doing a full body shake. 

“Thank you for coming for us,” Castiel said gravely.

WE MUST FINISH WHAT YOU HAVE STARTED.

To Castiel’s inquiring look, Dean said, “Elbathis says the angels are rebuilding the shields. We’ve gotta find a way up there quick so we can finish the job.”

Castiel immediately turned back to Elbathis. “We’ll grab more blades from the armory. Can you take us to the sandbox?”

“Cas, the sandbox is dead. We got no way up.”

I CAN FLY YOU TO HEAVEN, Elbathis said, flipping their wings neatly along their back. YOU SHOULD WARD YOURSELF AGAINST THE VEIL FIRST, UNLESS YOU WISH TO PERISH.

“Oh, sure, we’ll fly a dragon to Heaven. Why didn’t I think of that?” Dean said with a laugh. “I’ll get the paint.”

Castiel grimaced and peered up towards the vast sky. “What could possibly go wrong?”


	11. Chapter 11

Passing through the Veil felt like hurtling through a wall of fire. The wards painted on his and Dean’s skin flared blue-hot and Castiel gritted his teeth against the pain. Dimly, he was aware of Elbathis’s undulating body beneath them, straining to pass through dimensions. Perhaps they wouldn’t make it, mortal as they all were. Perhaps mortal flesh would never be able to pass through the barrier surrounding Heaven without a doorway incised into it like a wound. 

Pain built like a storm system in Castiel’s bones. He was starting to lose feeling in his hands, his legs. In any other situation, he would have used his grace to firewall the trauma, but as a human it was a trick he’d had yet to master. Perhaps Dean fared better. He’d had more practice. 

Castiel opened his mouth, ready to call off the assault. Regroup. Retreat. Try another plan that didn’t involve peeling them inside out like cattle in a butcher shop.

But with a sudden pop, they were through. 

Elbathis wheeled over the vast black mountains at the edge of Heaven, and glided towards one of the broken nodes. Castiel sucked in a harsh breath - unnecessary in sustaining field of Heaven, but instinctive on a basic biological level. 

“Well that sucked,” Dean muttered, turning his chin to seek out Castiel. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Castiel said, tersely. He squinted down at the node below. The faded shell had evolved into tall spires reaching up high into the air. Castiel realized with a jolt that the fractured shell was growing back up around the heart of the node. The angels were indeed working quickly. A few more amnesiac months for Dean and Castiel on Earth and they would have been successful in reshielding the nodes. 

“Looks like our ride to the Garden’s still open,” Dean said, distracting Castiel from his calculations on just how closely they might have cut their return. He was pointing towards the silver doorway glittering just below them. “You ready?”

Castiel laughed in reply. There was no proper amount of preparation for what they were about to do. What he was about to do. 

As Elbathis circled slowly down to the crystalline ground, Castiel considered their plan. Once they landed, they had to hurry into the portal. Angels would surely have set alarms throughout Heaven to warn them of the arrival of any other-dimensional visitors. They could take the portal to the inner nexus. Then from the inner nexus, they could make their way quickly to the Garden at the center of Heaven. 

_Could_ was the operative word. If Castiel had his grace, he could run inside the Garden and disable the grid once and for all. Without his grace, however, entering the Garden would kill him. If he was going to survive this mission, they had to find his grace first.

Elbathis landed gently in front of the node, then stumbled forward, neck slapping the surface with a sickening _thwack_. 

“Are you alright?” Castiel was off the dragon’s back in an instant, hurrying around to peer into the dragon’s eyes. What he saw made him draw back in shock. “Elbathis,” he said quietly and laid a careful hand on their nose. 

Elbathis met his eye for a long moment before laying their head down along the ground. THE VEIL WAS—

“Oh no,” Castiel said, kneeling beside the dragon. “Elbathis.”

“What is it?” Dean asked breathlessly, sliding to his knees alongside Castiel. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the Veil,” Castiel said. “It’s torn Elbathis apart. Their mortal body. It won’t survive.”

“Well, what does that mean?” Dean asked. “Can we do something. Heal them?” He grabbed Castiel’s hand and laid it across his own chest. “C’mon, Cas. We’ve done it before. You just hang on, Elbathis. Okay? We’ll get Cas’s grace back and--”

Castiel shook his head sadly. “There’s no way we can restore my grace in time.” He sighed and slid his hand down Elbathis’s soft nose. The dragon hummed under his touch as though in agreement. Castiel guessed, from simple intuition from his many eons watching life, that Elbathis was very near to the end. He hoped the dragon’s spirit would live on. There was so much they didn’t know about cosmos spirits. There was so much Castiel had hoped to learn. Instead he leaned down and pressed his forehead against the dragon’s long nose. “Goodbye, my friend. I hope to see you on the other side.”

GOODBYE, the dragon said, and then their body fell slack and their head rolled to the side. Elbathis’s body lay like a sculpture, lovingly crafted. 

Castiel could only hope that Elbathis might survive death. He sighed. Hope was weak consolation for the loss of the dragon. He lifted his head remorsefully for one last look before he and Dean disappeared through the portal. 

The look on Dean’s face arrested him.

Dean clenched his fist against his knee and his face was taut with sorrow and anger. “Elbathis told us they didn’t need sigils to pass through the veil. You think they knew they’d die?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fuck.” Muscles twitched in Dean’s jaw and he looked down the still form of the dragon. He sighed. “I was kinda hoping they’d just...float out of their body if they died here. Like we’d see them in just a second, they’d spread their wings and--.”

“Like they’d be okay.”

“Yeah.”

“I know. I don’t know how death works for a creature such as Elbathis.” Castiel shook his head ruefully and wrenched his gaze away from the dragon. “Regardless, it’s time for us to go.”

Dean scrubbed a hand across his face, streaking a silver track across his cheek, and looked back at the doorway. “You ready for this?”

Castiel ached terribly. He was exhausted and bloodied, and weak from the loss of his grace and confinement with the nuns. “Yes,” he said. “I am. Let us finish this.”

Together they left the body of Elbathis behind and walked through the doorway that led to the nexus, and the Garden beyond.

* * *

Dean had half expected a ring of angels awaiting them on the other side of the doorway, but they were met instead by an empty, quiet pathway. He pushed himself up from the ground and looked up and down the road warily. Heavens surrounded them; there didn’t seem to be a single point in the concentrated center of Heaven that didn’t have the gleaming soul trees. Dark matter teemed between them, just as active as it had been before they were captured.

“I feel like Indiana Jones in a snake pit,” Dean said, gesturing to the writhing space between the heavens.

“That would be appropriate. We are in a well of souls. Of a sort.”

Dean turned to look at Castiel, one eyebrow raised. “That’s what you take away from Indiana Jones?”

Castiel gave Dean an arch look then beckoned him to follow. “I pay attention to the details,” he whispered seriously. “It’s based on a real place.”

“Nerd,” Dean snorted, and followed Castiel down the pathway. 

Castiel stalked the roads of Heaven. On the surface, he looked like he was unaffected by his abrupt year of humanity, or his recent captivity at the hands of the St. Crispin nuns. Dean could give a thousand reasons why he knew Castiel was rattled though, from the way he avoided Dean’s eye when they discussed the risks of the plan, to his willingness to discuss pop culture moments before one possibly final, stupid heist. Neither of them might make it past the final push to the Garden. 

Castiel led them through the paths, still and quiet, until they came to a junction. One pathway led straight upward, bending at a ninety degree angle in front of them and plunging further into the core. “That leads to the Garden.” Castiel pointed towards a path which jutted off to the right and disappeared into tangled darkness. “That leads to the armory.” He hesitated, and Dean knew he was weighing the merits of their plan. 

“You said it yourself, Cas,” Dean reminded him quietly. “Getting through the Garden and flipping that switch is gonna be a hell of a lot easier if you’re an angel. We’ve gotta do it.” 

“We still don’t know if the armory holds my grace.”

“Well, makes sense to start there, don’t it?” Dean flicked his blade towards the rightward path. Castiel appeared to steel himself internally, shoulders squaring and jaw tensing, and then they were off.

The armory was close. Like Naomi’s offices, it bore the unmistakable stamp of angelkind on it. The door to the armory stood out incongruously in its local cluster of heavens, with an imposing white marble frame jutting between trees. The marble edifice held a steel-gray door. 

“You sure you remember how to open this thing?” Dean asked, frowning at the door which stood several hands higher than both of them. 

“I’m sure.” Runes circled the center of the door and Castiel swiftly pressed them in sequence until each rune lit with a bright orange glow and the door hissed open. Dean gripped his blade, and followed Castiel inside.

The interior of the armory was vast. It stretched as far as Dean could see, racks upon racks of weaponry. He looked to the shadowed area on the left and saw a wall of hung axes as long as a football field. Dean looked right and snorted. “Chariots? Really?”

“Angels participated in humanity’s wars for thousands of years, Dean.” Castiel swiftly prowled the racks now. “Chariots are quite an advantage on a certain type of battle field. If my grace is held in the armory,” he said, sucking in a breath, “it will be in there.” He pointed to his left.

Painted in shadowed bars by the rows of spears lined up in the long hall sat a long, deep chest. It gleamed like warm wood, preternaturally bright in the shadowed armory. 

“When I led Heaven,” Castiel said, rushing to the chest, “this was where we kept the most precious artifacts. Let’s see if you still remember me.” He caressed the lid like he was greeting a beloved pet and the chest seemed to glow brighter at his touch. He inhaled sharply, and looked up at Dean with a sudden bright smile. “I think this is it.”

His smile immediately collapsed. “Dean--” he said, and Dean turned, whirling before Castiel could even get out the rest of the warning. Silver flashed in the corner of his eye and the heel of an angel blade crashed into him, dashing against his cheekbone. 

“Son of a--” Dean reeled backwards from the blow, already dipping low to sweep his own foot out to take down the angel raising her blade for another blow. He managed to parry the next, but another rough blow caught him from behind.

Dean stumbled and hands, iron-strong, wrapped around his arms.

Later, he tried to make the excuse that both he and Castiel were human. They’d been recently injured, and they’d made it through the Veil. No amount of Heaven’s vital energy could have restored enough strength to them to fight off three angels. Still, as they were escorted roughly down Heaven’s pathways to Naomi’s office, Dean let the blame settle on his shoulders. 

“Cas, I should’ve been more careful.”

“They were waiting for us, Dean. You can’t blame yourself.” 

Dean laughed bitterly. “Oh yeah? Just try to stop me.”

“I find I try doing that far more often than I would prefer.” Naomi greeted them as they were pushed into her office with a slight smile. She stood behind her desk, perfectly polished, with her fingertips resting primly on the surface. 

“Naomi,” Dean spat. He looked around. “Well? Where’re the balloons? Where’s the cake? Shouldn’t you be throwing a party? After all, you just caught Heaven’s most wanted. Again.”

Naomi tilted her head. “Is this a game to you, Dean Winchester?”

Dean swallowed against the tip of the angel blade jammed against his throat. He grinned, more a display of teeth than merriment, and said tauntingly, “Yeah, a real fun one. You gonna send me down to Earth again? I’ll just come right back.”

“You’re not making a compelling case for your survival,” Naomi said grimly. “How did you get back here?”

“Telling you’s not part of the ticket price,” Dean said staunchly, and the angel guarding him dug their blade into his skin, letting loose a fine trickle of blood.

“Oh, we both know that’s a lie,” Naomi sniffed, crossing the room. “I can smell the Veil all over you.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Elbathis, alive or not, deserved protection from the angels that had recently harnessed and controlled them. He wasn’t about to give away Elbathis’s secrets. 

“We’ll see what’s a lie.” Naomi leaned forward and extended two fingers towards Dean. 

He flinched back into the angels holding him, out of instinct. A moment later Naomi’s fingers were pressed against his forehead. He could feel her probing at his mind, an icicle of intent slicing through his brain. “Charlie,” he prayed frantically. “Both of you - now!” 

Pain shot through the connection as his mind opened up like the jaws of life, prying into Naomi’s churning grace and twisting it open as swiftly and brutally as she had opened his own mind. Dean gave into the pain and let the two Charlie Bradburys back on Earth take over his body and mind. They plunged forward, using the spiritual connection between the artifact in the bunker, and his own body touching Naomi, to chop into her thoughts.

When Dean was able to focus his eyes again, Naomi was collapsed on the floor and the angel holding him shouted past his ear, asking Naomi about her wellbeing.

“What did you do to me?” Naomi asked with a grimace, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead.

It was Castiel’s turn to speak. “We knew you couldn’t resist walking around our minds,” he told her. “So we knew that at some point you would try to read one of us. Take our memories. You walked right into our trap.”

Dean grunted. “You’ve been hacked.”

Back on Earth, two Charlie Bradburys were set up in the bunker with the communication crystal tied to Dean’s spirit. Dean could almost picture it - a projection of himself standing in the bunker’s library while two of his favorite people from both worlds worked together to hack the mind-to-mind connection. They had decided to use Dean’s spirit to tunnel through into Naomi’s mind, banking on Naomi’s dislike of Dean. If he could irritate her enough, she would try to sift through his mind first. 

“You find it yet?” Dean asked the table of researchers at the bunker, half of his awareness centered in the library, and half in Naomi’s sterile office. 

“We’re still looking,” his Charlie said, her fingers flying over a liquid touchscreen. “This is like digging through the Matrix with an old fashioned magnifying glass and Sherlock Holmes cape.”

“Don’t forget the give-’em-hell attitude. We’re close, Dean. Hold on,” the alternate world Charlie said, chewing her lip as she spun and flipped and dismissed arcane readouts on her own device. 

On the floor in Naomi’s office in Heaven, Naomi screamed as the two Charlies burrowed into her mind. “Get out,” she yelled, an edge of panic coloring her tone for the first time in Dean’s recollection. “Get out of my head!”

The angel holding Dean was starting to move towards Naomi, blade slackening against his side and Dean could tell by Castiel’s alert and subtle movements that his captors were doing the same. Even if the Charlies couldn’t hack the location of Castiel’s grace from Naomi’s mind, maybe this would be distraction enough that Dean and Castiel could overpower the angels holding them prisoner. They could make a run for the Garden and take their chances flipping the switch as humans. 

“We got it,” Charlie - one of the Charlies - shouted directly in his mind. “We got it. It’s around her neck. On a chain.”

Dean grinned at Castiel. His grin was a fierce, predatory thing as a raging instinct for battle surged in him. “She’s wearing it, Cas. She’s wearing it around her neck.”

Naomi clapped a hand to her forehead, face twisted in pain and disbelief. She struggled to her feet, swaying. “No,” she cried. “This isn’t possible. You can’t--” But she fumbled at her neckline, fingers drawing out a long chain. Slowly, a long glass vial emerged, attached to the chain. It glowed with swirling blue grace. 

“Naomi, give me what’s mine.” Castiel began to struggle against the two angels holding him. “You have no right--”

Naomi backed towards her desk, putting the solid behemoth between herself and her prisoners. “I can’t let you into the Garden, Castiel. I can’t let you get to the switch. You’ll destroy Heaven. You don’t know what you’re doing!”

“It’s too late,” Dean shouted, raging at the angel holding him. Their grip was like iron, like a statue holding him implacably tight. 

Naomi pulled at the vial, snapping it off of the chain. She held the capsule aloft and for a moment Dean thought she would dash it to the ground where, he knew, Castiel’s grace would fly back to him like a homing pigeon. Instead, she flicked at the cap with her thumb and opened the bottle. In one swift movement, she held it to her lips. “You’ll never be an angel again, Castiel,” she said, moving to drink the seething grace. “And good riddance.” 

Castiel shouted something wordless and anguished and Dean redoubled his efforts to escape, but the bottle was near Naomi’s lips now. She would drink Castiel’s grace down like downing a shot. She would absorb it into herself, taint it, use it. And it was the last of it. _The last of Castiel’s grace._

And then an astonishing thing happened. A dragon’s head emerged through the wall, as defined as matter, as flexible as spirit. Elbathis’s eyes were as curious as a cat behind the oblivious Naomi. They opened their jaws far wider than Dean had ever thought possible so that their mouth extended as high as the woman in front of them. Rows of razor-bright teeth shone in the bright, sterile lights of Naomi’s office and in the next moment, Elbathis had closed their jaws around Naomi. Her surprised cry was swallowed into the dragon as readily as the angel herself. 

Dean instinctively used the distraction to twist free of the angel holding him and noted out of the corner of his eye that Castiel had done the same. They both raced for the dragon’s head, still hovering over Naomi’s desk. 

“Elbathis! You’re okay!” Relief threatened to swamp Dean. 

Elbathis looked between Dean and Castiel, then back to the angels they had just escaped. They grinned a wide cheshire-cat smile and displayed a bottle held between their teeth, delicately held upright so that its contents would not spill. 

Castiel gasped, and wordlessly reached forward and took the capsule of his grace from Elbathis. He looked at Dean for a fraction of a second, face flushed and sweating and eyes wide. He seemed to be asking Dean for something - permission maybe. 

“Do it, Cas,” Dean urged. 

Castiel nodded. “Close your eyes.” 

Dean felt the brief, fierce press of Castiel’s lips against his and then his mouth was gone again and the room swam in impossibly bright light that seared into Dean’s vision even through his closed eyes. 

* * *

They raced to the Garden. Heaven was a blur beneath their stumbling feet. The ground moved under them, heaving in distress at Naomi’s loss. They had very little time in which to act. 

With his grace restored, Castiel could sense Dean now, in a way he had sorely missed. He could feel Dean running beside him. The flow of his life force was like a static charge, alert and wild in anticipation of the fight before them. Elbathis guarded the angels who had captured Dean and Castiel, holding them at bay in Naomi’s office. There were still others in Heaven, however. Their plan could still fail and all they had worked for and sacrificed might come to nothing. 

Naomi was missing from the angelic grid now and Castiel, forcibly expelled from Heaven so many times, wasn’t sure if he was stable enough to stand in. They had to succeed in their mission. Everything, every fate depended on it. He skidded to a stop as the Garden gate drew near. “Lay down the oil,” he barked at Dean, turning his attention to the gateway. 

Dean pulled a flask of holy oil from his pocket and drizzled an oblong barrier at either end of the corridor, lighting the lines on fire. He stood back with a look of surprise. “Wasn’t sure that would work up here,” he told Castiel as he joined him at the doorway. He squinted at it. “So was Charlie right? Naomi added wardings to the doorway?”

Castiel grimly indicated several newly etched sigils around the ring of the doorway. “It would appear so,” he said. “No mortal flesh may pass through, even under the protection of an angel.”

“So what now?” Dean fished in his pocket and held out a small capsule. “Ward buster?”

“Worth a shot.” He and Dean stood back as Dean lobbed the ward buster at the door. Nothing happened and Castiel approached the gateway again hesitantly, lifting one hand to the invisible barrier walling off the Garden. Immediately he hissed and dropped his hand, shaking out his burning fingertips. 

“Shit. You okay?” Dean grabbed for his hand and pulled it up to examine it. 

Castiel looked at his hand dispassionately, already instinctively walling off the pain. The skin on his fingertips was black and cracked, but already healing. “I’m fine. But this won’t work.” He squinted at the barrier, turning over scenarios in his mind. 

Before they’d returned to Heaven, they’d gone over many ideas. In some plans, Dean and Castiel had stayed together and in others, they had split up. Dean had steadfastly refused to entertain any plans which involved them separating. He’d explained at the time that whenever they separated, the other person had a habit of getting captured - or killed. Dean wasn’t wrong, but Castiel didn’t see any other way forward, particularly as Heaven quaked around them. “I’ll leave my body here,” he said as easily as if he were commenting on the weather. “And come back for you later.”

Dean groaned. “I was afraid of that,” he said, but he was nodding. “But it’s the only way. We gotta finish this, Cas, and I’m sorry. It’s all on you, now.”

Castiel swallowed. “I know.” He reached for Dean, running his fingers around the curve of his neck. “I’ll be back,” he said in as close to a promise as he could manage. 

“Yes, you will.” Dean voice was lower, huskier and he pulled Castiel in swiftly. His kiss was hot and needy and sour with desperation. It was also short. There was no time for indulgence. No time for anything but action. “Good thing we found your grace,” Dean said weakly. 

“Stop!” A voice echoed from the pathway and Castiel turned, blade at the ready, to see Anael and two other angels skidding to a halt on the other side of the burning oil. “Don’t do this, Castiel,” Anael said, her face twisted in agony. “Castiel, please.”

“Anael, I must. It’s the only way to free Heaven.” He looked around at the quivering trees and the teeming darkness surrounding the soul-light. “It’s the only way to save everything - to save ourselves.”

“I know,” she wailed. “I’ve known it for years. For centuries. I should have done it long ago but I lost the courage. Castiel, if you go in there, you may succeed but you will also die.”

“Cas?” Dean’s voice rose behind him. “What’s she talking about?”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Castiel said and knew, as he said it, that Dean could feel the lie. He deflated a little. Dean knew him too well. “The truth is, I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what will happen. There’s a chance that this could go very badly. But we have no choice. No time to try anything else.”

“I know,” Dean’s voice was tight as a whip. “I know. Come back to me.”

“Close your eyes.” Castiel watched as Dean closed his eyes. Dean’s face was drained of color and he ached to kiss him. Castiel longed to flee from Heaven and find somewhere safe, somewhere new. But there was nowhere to run to. All fates ended in Heaven, or damnation. And he’d tear down the world to keep Dean from the latter fate. 

Castiel pulled himself from his body like he was slipping out of a suit, watching his body slump lifelessly to the ground. And then he was himself as he once was, a towering form of grace and power. He swung a limb towards the Garden and the barrier parted before him. 

Castiel left his mortal body beside his lover and entered the Garden alone. 

* * *

The switch lay in the center of the Garden, a column of light standing like a solid cylinder amidst the lush spectral vegetation. There was nobody here but Castiel. No angels, no gods. Only the power of Heaven, and Castiel. He tried to quash the familiar feeling of elation at having the power of Heaven at his disposal. He could dislike a drug, but still viscerally miss its effects. 

Heaven trembled around him. 

_There is no time._

Castiel plunged his hands, then his arms, then his whole body into the switch at the center of the Garden. He cried out as he merged into it.

For a moment he was God, or a part of God. He was going to burn. There was no way he could survive this inferno. Dimly, he remembered that he needed to shut down the grid. The whole point of him going into the Garden was to disable it. 

His eyes stared into fire and he closed them. Everything shut down around him.

He was in the center of the universe, but the universe was nothing. The universe was a speck of golden dust in the black and the potential of nothingness swamped him, as dark as despair. 

“No,” Castiel groaned. He thought he might have spoken aloud. The word reverberated around him and the little golden ball of potential quivered. 

“Chuck?” Castiel shivered. “Chuck, can you hear me? I don’t know what to do.” If God was still alive, he didn’t answer, not that Castiel had really expected it. 

The darkness remained.

It was more than the Empty. Castiel remembered it well - the impossible, crushing desire to sleep dreamlessly and eternally. The Empty had been just that - a desire for the feeling of nothingness. But a feeling was still something. This was...this was void. And it was the coldest thing Castiel had ever felt. 

He looked at the little golden ball in the void. “I’m sorry,” he said to it. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I never know what I’m doing.” 

The ball glimmered, like a stuttering spark and Castiel felt his whole being clench in worry that it might go out. But it didn’t go out. Instead, it became a firefly, pulsing on and then off, as regular as breath. Around the ball, other sparks started to blink into existence.

One by one the heavens lit up, spark by spark, until Castiel was surrounded by stars. 

Power thrummed around Castiel like a pulsing sound wave, invisible but tangible. He shivered at its touch. _It’s alive_ , he thought. _The power of Heaven is alive._ It reminded him of Elbathis. It was effervescent and intelligent. Heaven was a dragon, once slumbering, now awake. “Wake up,” Castiel whispered. “It’s time to fly.”

In his mind, or in reality - they were so intermixed now - Castiel watched as the points of light coalesced into a vast winged creature that turned to him with something like a smile. Castiel knew he was witnessing a mere construct of Heaven. Heaven wasn’t really a dragon. It wasn’t really Elbathis, staring him down with wisdom and humor swirling in their eyes. 

Heaven was something else entirely, and it was also _alive_. 

Castiel’s many heads bared their teeth in a triumphant grin. For here he was - Castiel the fuck-up angel, the one who slaughtered hundreds. The one who brought Heaven to a state so sorry that he had to drag his lover up here to try to fix it. Here he was in the center of Heaven, and he’d set the power free at last. He watched as the dragon curled into itself, wings wrapping into a neat ball of light. Heaven, in the form of a dragon, curled tightly into a perfect circle. He reached out and stroked it, willing it to curl calmly into a ball. Willing it to remain intact. 

_I’ve done it,_ Castiel thought. _The grid is released and Heaven is free. We’re all free._

He watched the sphere of Heaven glow brightly from somewhere outside of reality and was content. Slowly, Castiel began to laugh. He stood in the central core, trapped and blissful, as time passed outside the Garden.

* * *

“It’s taking too long,” Anael said after an interminable wait. “Let me in there so I can pull him out.” She looked around as Heaven flashed around them. “He’s in there, still. The job isn’t done yet. He’s still holding on to the power.” 

“You joined up with Lucifer,” Dean spat at her. “Why the hell would I trust you now?” He paced the path in front of the gateway, surprised that he hadn’t yet worn it smooth. 

“I thought Lucifer would change Heaven. Do it differently. I thought we’d release Heaven’s power together. It turned out he was just like every other angel,” she said miserably. “Only interested in their own strength. Dean, please. It’s taking too long. He’ll die in there if you don’t let me in. Let me take his place.”

Dean looked at the gateway, a gorgeously worked museum piece of leaf and flower arching above him. “No mortal flesh may pass through.” he mused. He scratched his head. _No mortal flesh can pass through._ “I’ve been to the Garden before,” he said finally. 

Her eyes grew wide. “When?”

“When I was dead,” Dean said. He stared at the gateway. “What do these wards do, exactly?”

“Dean, what are you planning?” Anael’s voice was low and cautious, as though trying to talk him away from a ledge. 

“They’ll kill me, right? That’s the whole idea? But I got wards all over my body. You think that’ll be enough to keep me from getting ripped into shreds?” Dean stared at Castiel’s body lying on the ground, then gulped a needless breath. 

Dean stepped through the gateway and entered the Garden, Anael screaming behind him. 

Dean’s soul ripped from his flesh. Dimly, he was aware of his body slumping to the ground next to Castiel. It seemed extraneous then, lying on the other side of the gateway.

He looked around him, at the conservatory he remembered from his visit with Joshua years ago. Everything seemed...brighter. There was something gleaming at its center. _Castiel._ And then suddenly he was racing, pure lithe spirit, straight to the heart of the Garden.

He found Castiel suspended in the column of light at the center of the Garden, a being of holy and awesome beauty. Castiel had four heads and six wings, each dangling listlessly as he swayed in a bright gold beam. Gaseous, shifting spirals of matter swirled from his body, which seemed half human and half galaxy. He was trapped in the core, just as Anael said and its power was intact, and wrapping around him as steadily as a swaddling blanket.

“Cas! Cas, you gotta wake up. You gotta get out of there.”

Castiel didn’t move and made no sign that he had heard Dean.

The Garden trembled around them. 

There wasn’t time for Dean to hesitate. He jumped on instinct into the column of light and folded his soul around Castiel like a kiss. Except it was more than a kiss, more than an embrace. They melded together and the bond they shared united them, rather than turning them into quivering ruins. 

Dean folded them together into one being and tried again. _Cas._

Castiel stirred in his embrace, and Dean begged him. _I’m here, Cas. I’m here. Right here with you. You’ve gotta finish the job._ He repeated this, pressing the words into Castiel as steadily and surely as a line of kisses along his body. 

_Cas. Come back to me._ Castiel glowed blue at the words, then gold and in a sudden rush the column exploded, snapping the strict lines of the angelic power grid. The column surrounding them seemed to dissolve and the foundation of Heaven heaved like a waking giant taking its first stumbling breath. 

Dean toppled over, bemused to find that gravity was a thing that could affect him, and that Castiel, in all his otherworldly glory, seemed to suffer the same effects. Castiel’s many heads peered around at their surroundings from their place on the ground. Light pulsed in the garden in a steady beat and Dean was reminded suddenly, ridiculously, of a rave. _Need a glowstick,_ he thought, and began to giggle. 

Dimly he was aware of Castiel zeroing in on him. He was aware of Castiel’s many eyes widening. He could hear Castiel say his name, voice like the crashing waves on a seashore. 

Castiel gathered him up then and pulled him close. He seemed both impossibly huge and laughably small compared to Dean, or perhaps it was Dean who kept changing shape. “Hold on, Dean. Stay with me. I’ll get you out of here.”

Dean patted what he thought might be a tentacle, wrapped around his chest. “Awesome,” he said, slurring his words. “S’awesome.”

* * *

Dean woke with a gasp outside of the gateway, lungs desperately sucking in air. “Dean?” Castiel said desperately. “Dean? Can you hear me? Can you understand me?” His hands shook and he tried to steady them by clenching Dean’s jacket. “Dean, please.”

He’d come back to himself in the Garden, pulled from the siren call of the power grid by Dean. Beautiful, unpredictable Dean. He’d saved Castiel, and in doing so, he’d saved them all. Already the tremors that had rocked Heaven were abating. The system had reset. They had done it. 

Beneath his hands, Dean shook and his eyes were wide and seemingly sightless. “Dean.” Castiel’s voice cracked and he leaned down to whisper it, cradling Dean’s head in his hands. “Please come back to me.”

“Cas?” The word ghosted from Dean’s lips, dusting Castiel’s cheek with air. “Did we do it?”

Overcome, Castiel at first could only buckle over Dean, pressing his forehead into the solid reality of Dean’s skin. He gulped back something alarmingly like a sob and fumbled for his grace out of instinct, ready to tamp down on his more inconvenient emotions. 

His grace felt...different. This was startling enough that he drew back, eyes meeting Dean’s own steady gaze. 

“Cas,” Dean asked quietly, bringing his own hand up to trace Castiel’s cheek. “You okay?”

Castiel realized with shock that Dean was brushing away a tear from his cheek. “I’m fine,” he said, not at all sure that he was telling the truth. He’d carried Dean through the gateway and shoved his soul back into his body desperately afraid that he was too late, or that Dean’s soul had been damaged by the overwhelming power of the central core. By the time he’d pulled himself back into his own body, the other angels had run off, and Dean still wasn’t breathing. He’d poured his power, whatever he seemed to have within him in reserve, into Dean. With the angels no longer in control, Castiel wasn’t sure how long his powers would remain, or if they would manifest ever again. 

To his relief, he had enough healing energy to bring the flush of life back into Dean. It had been a very close thing. Too close.

“Did we do it? Did we disable the grid?” Dean looked around slowly. “We haven’t fallen to Earth, have we?”

Castiel shook his head. “No,” he said. “We haven’t fallen to Earth. We did it. Heaven is stable and...free. It’s free.” 

Dean slumped where he lay. “Good,” he said. “Because I feel like shit.”

Castiel traced the lines of Dean’s face. He slipped his hand to Dean’s chest and felt his heart beat and beneath that, felt his soul pulsing within his body. “You’re okay,” he said to Dean, partly to reassure himself. Dean smiled. “And you’re an idiot.”

“Hey,” Dean said weakly. “I saved your ass.” He struggled to sit up and Castiel helped him, clutching his arms to pull him upright. 

“You did,” Castiel agreed. “Thank you for that. But you died, so I still get to call you an idiot.” Dean rolled his eyes and pulled Castiel down to him.

Castiel let himself be kissed senseless.

Later, when they surfaced from each other, Castiel looked around. The holy oil fire was barely a lick of flame against the floor now, and so intermittent that it would take the flick of a boot toe to dissipate. 

Beyond it, all around them, Heaven was glowing. Before, the soul-trees marking individual heavens shone alone like beacons of light in a storm-dark sea. Now, a rosy flush lit the space between the heavens, like a lover’s blush. Instead of dark tendrils curling between the trees, green and gold light wove from the pathways like lush, radiant foliage. 

“Holy shit,” Dean murmured reverently. 

“Holy shit,” Castiel agreed. He watched a tendril of light curl into a tight ball, like a furling dragon wing and memory slammed into him. Castiel gasped. “This is just the beginning, Dean,” he said with a new understanding in his eyes. “I’ve seen it all. I’ve seen the Garden and the life that slumbered here all along. I’ve seen it, and it’s here.”

As they watched, all of Heaven seemed to bloom into a replica of the Garden. The tangled balls of root and branches were spreading, interconnecting. Each heaven was growing up and out and into each other, soaking in Heaven’s power.

It was beautiful. Transcendent. Castiel looked at Dean as he stared at the wildly growing tangle of Heaven. _We did it,_ he thought. _You and me._

* * *

“So what do we do now?” Dean had stamped out the holy fire and they walked the blooming garden of Heaven, searching for Elbathis. 

“Return to Earth somehow. Live our lives.”

“Return to Earth somehow,” Dean agreed with feeling. “Sounds damn good to me. Knowing everyone back home, they’re gonna want to throw a party. Never let it be said again that I don’t go to parties.” 

Castiel laughed. “We’ll make a human out of you yet, Dean.” 

Elbathis bugled in Dean’s head. YOU DID IT, they said excitedly. I KNEW YOU COULD.

Dean laughed and craned his head around, searching for the dragon in the rose gold light. He saw Elbathis at first from a distance, as the dragon winged its way through heavens as though they were as insubstantial as air. Elbathis landed in front of Dean and Castiel and lowered its head to meet them eye-to-eye. 

YOU’VE DONE IT, Elbathis said proudly. AND THE ANGELS HAVE SCATTERED TO LEARN THEIR NEW PLACE. I WILL DO THE SAME.

Dean reached out and Elbathis nudged his hand with their nose. “Thank you for everything,” Dean said. “Thank you for---”

WE WILL MEET AGAIN SOMEDAY, Elbathis said. FOR NOW, YOU MUST RETURN TO EARTH. IT IS NOT GOOD FOR YOU TO STAY OVERLY LONG. MORTAL. They said the last with an unmistakable tone of affection. 

“Agreed,” Dean said. He turned to Castiel. “Any ideas how we get back to Earth, though?”

Castiel shook his head, eyes averting. “I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t know if I have the power to make another gateway. And Naomi destroyed Metatron’s doorway. Unless you can fly us, Elbathis?”

Elbathis slowly shook their head, _no_.

Dean reached for Castiel and ran a thumb across his cheek. “So you and me. Heaven eternal? Gotta admit it was a little sooner than I expected.” He tried out a lopsided grin and could tell that Castiel wasn’t fooled for an instant.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. I should have come up to do this on my own. Kept you safe on Earth” Castiel looked away from him and Dean fumbled for his coat, pulling him close. 

“Hey. You got nothing to be sorry for,” Dean said. “Didn’t I tell you I’d never leave your side?”

“You did,” Castiel agreed. 

“So,” Dean elbowed Castiel. “How’re you feeling?”

Castiel tilted his head. “Surprisingly good,” he said, “considering I did the equivalent of sticking myself in a giant laser beam.”

“Same.” Dean laughed. He reached out and stroked the fine, soft feathers of Elbathis. “Maybe goodbye was a little premature, buddy.”

“You know,” Castiel said after a long silence. “I really do feel oddly well. I feel strong. Vital.” An odd look spread across his face. “Dean,” he said with an edge of nervousness. “I want to try something.” Castiel stood and in the rapidly growing light he let his wings spread, feathers shifting out, whole and strong. “My wings! The Garden—”

“All that crazy growing energy,” Dean said, love written across his face. “It healed you, Cas.”

Castiel grinned and thought he might burst from joy. “I can fly us back,” he said. “It’s a miracle.”

“There’s no such thing,” Dean said, but his kiss seemed to indicate otherwise.

They stayed in the blooming gardens of Heaven for a long time, talking to Elbathis and soaking in the life-giving power. When they were ready to go, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean and spread his wings. With a mighty flap, they soared through the Veil and back towards the green and blue mortal plane. Back towards home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Here's the [rebloggable link to Firmament Field](https://whichstiel.tumblr.com/post/178710503550/deancasbigbang-title-the-firmament-field). 
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/whichstiel) and [Tumblr](http://whichstiel.tumblr.com/) @ whichstiel. You may also like the Supernatural recap and gif blog I co-write/curate, [Shirtless Sammy](https://shirtlesssammy.tumblr.com/).


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